Flash Bastard
by Shinkshinkshink
Summary: Goofy, lovable, coquettish Anders flees to Kirkwall unaccompanied by any pesky Fade spirits. Satisfied with a life of dissolute self-indulgence and depravity, he meets Hawke - an ill-tempered warrior with no time for games - and becomes driven by a desire to bed her. But what happens when he starts to feel something more? Will he submit to those feelings or will he run?
1. The Apostitute

**Hello all! For those of you who read Plenary Indulgence, don't panic! I haven't abandoned it, but I started to get writer's block and needed a side project. I got a lot of compliments on how I portrayed Clemency Anders in Beauty and the Berserker and I miss our silly, sexy, non-terrorist, kitty-loving mage, so this just kind of happened. Oops, sorry paulaH. :-P Enjoy!**

**Oh, and sorry about the art. That's uh...that's me. I'll figure something out. Any volunteers? Would love fanart of Anders in Chasind robes. Because of reasons. **

Anders was drunk the first time he saw her, but there was about a fifty-fifty chance of that being the case, anyway. He wasn't an alcoholic, just a devout hedonist as he saw it. He felt he'd earned that right through a life of hardship and persecution.

He emerged from his room with the lovely Ninette de Carrac on his arm. It was his day off at the Rose, but he always made an exception for Ninette. Sometimes he wondered if he should be paying her instead, but it was what turned her on and he was only too happy to indulge her. If it worked out in his favor, well, that was just icing on the cake.

She slapped him hard on the ass, veering off to the right, right into Jethann's room. She blew a winsome kiss his way and giggled as she disappeared behind the door. He liked Ninette.

He sat down at one of the tables to have a chat with some of his fellow debauchers and maybe another drink, when he received a brusque tap on his shoulder. He sighed emphatically, turning toward the owner of the intruding finger. In general, he had never been overly perturbed by intruding fingers, but a certain templar needed to learn the meaning of the word 'no.'

"Persistent and charmingly direct as you are, Torig, I am still not..." but he was caught off-guard by the sight of lyrium blue eyes and the most magnificent pair of breasts this side of Orlais. A smile tugged the corners of his lips upward, crooked and casually intrigued. "Well, hello there, beautiful."

The flash of annoyance in her eyes only stoked the flame in his loins. He could tell before she even spoke that she was Fereldan. She had that predatory, barbaric beauty one often found in the eyes of a Fereldan women. Her other features were not bad either; raven hair unkempt, strong jaw, lips berry-colored and constantly poised in an indifferent frown. _Not bad at all._

"Are you going to tell me your name, or am I meant to guess it? Let's see, is it Ann? Deborah? Oh, is it Nicole? I fancy that name for you. You look like a Nicole."

"My name is Hawke." she said tersely, and clearly unimpressed. This would be a challenge. Anders loved challenges.

"I never would have guessed in a million years." he chuckled taking her hand to press a kiss into one of her white knuckles. She pulled away with a noticeable scowl. "A pleasure to meet you, Hawke. I am Anders, if it pleases you. If not, I am just as happy to be anyone your little heart desires. Is there something I can do for you? With you? To you? You'll find I'm rather flexible, literally and figuratively."

She groaned, turning toward a dwarf with the most handsome flourish of chest hair he'd ever had the privilege of seeing. "Varric, are you sure he's the one? He seems kind of...stupid."

Anders smirked. "Yes, well, _be that as it may_, I assure you, I am perfectly qualified to rock your socks off."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm looking for a Grey Warden."

"I can work with that. Did you want a specific Grey Warden? Garahel? Corin the Bold? The bastard prince Alistair? Oh, that has potential. You could be the lovely Natia Brosca. Or perhaps you'd rather be the Archdemon and I'll smite you with my mighty..."

"I know who you are, Anders. I know you are...were a Warden."

He nodded slowly, realization dawning on him. "Ah. I see." he said, more than a little disappointed. He set down his mug, giving a quick wave to Viveka across the room. "Excuse me for a moment while _I RUN FOR MY BLOODY LIFE!_"

He threw open the door, nearly bowling over a startled Seneschal Bran in the process, ducking and weaving in Hightown alleyways with a speed even he couldn't believe was natural. This wasn't his first time fleeing for his life in Kirkwall, but it was his first time fleeing for his life while drunk. It was proving rather difficult to say the least. He swore as he nearly tripped over a stray cat, sending it yowling in terror down the street. "Shit! Sorry, kitty, gotta run!" he called over his shoulder.

He only stopped when he found himself at a dead end. He projectile vomited into a corner, wiping his lips and heaving several choking breaths in. He didn't think he was actually pursued this far until he turned around and found himself standing face-to-face with Hawke.

He frowned. Their meeting had seemed so promising, too. He did not relish the idea of filling such a delicious woman with lightning and ice and all other manner of nasty elements - especially not in a dingy back alley and especially when there were so many other much more pleasant things he could fill her with instead - but Anders rather liked his life and his freedom and he wasn't about to give either up willingly, no matter how pretty she was.

He panted, wicking sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "You seem like a perfectly reasonable person. There's no need...for this. I'm sure we can work something out. I have some coin saved up..."

Despite his breathlessness, she seemed unaffected by the chase. "MAKER, do you ever shut up? I'm not here to bring you back to the Wardens."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You're not?"

"No, I just want some blighted maps."

He considered this for a moment. "For the Deep Roads?"

"No, for Serendipity's smallclothes." she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Of course, for the damned Deep Roads!"

"In that case, you should have just asked."

She stiffened, surprised and a little confused. "Wait...so you'll just give them to us?"

"Er...yeah? Why wouldn't I?"

"Just like that? No quid pro quo? No year of servitude? No exorbitant price? No amulet with a witch in it? I don't even have to sleep with you?"

"Would that even work?"

"No, but most people at least try."

"I prefer not to sleep with unwilling. Call it a hangup of mine, if you like." he shrugged. "Honestly, I don't even need them anymore. I'll just have to go through my things and find them, first. Come back tomorrow night and I'll have them ready." Actually, he knew exactly where the maps were, but he wasn't about to miss the opportunity to see this lovely, petulant creature again and work his magic. Not literally, of course. That would be bad.

"You don't even want to know what I need them for?"

"Loot and plunder, I assume. You look the type."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she huffed.

"It means I think you know your way around _booty_." he said, wagging his eyebrows. She glared at him, his lips twisted up into a self-impressed grin. She was easy to get to, this Hawke. "Am I wrong?"

"Not entirely." she admitted.

"Fair enough, serah Hawke. Is it safe to say I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Unless by some benevolent act of the Maker it can be avoided." she sighed.

"Then I shall wait with bated breath." he winked.

* * *

The next day was busy for Anders. First he had Roxanne Cherrier, Ninette, Julia, a shy templar named Conrad and Ninette again, because she was as insatiable as she was fun. She teasingly offered to keep him as a housewhore in her estate if she could ever get rid of her brutish layabout husband, Ghyslain. Anders wholeheartedly agreed under the same condition. Not that it was a genuine offer. Ghyslain was there to stay, regrettably.

He was lounging on his bed in his smalls when Hawke finally showed up. The way he saw it, this was a brothel, modesty was neither necessary nor recommended. Hawke did not seem to appreciate logic as much as he did. Or maybe it was just men? He sincerely hoped that wasn't the case. She took one look at him, albeit a wandering one, and shielded her eyes.

"Pants?" It was less of a request and more of a demand.

"No, Anders." he said. "We met yesterday. You chased me. It was awkward. Don't you remember?"

"Pants?!"

He grumbled and stood, reaching for a pair of black velvet trousers at the foot of his bed. "That's the first time someone's asked me to put clothes _on_ today...or ever." He closed the last button and sighed. "There, I'm decent. Your innocence can remain intact, my lady."

"I appreciate that." she said. She cautiously glanced at him through her fingers, then, satisfied that he was telling the truth, uncovered her eyes. "Look, about yesterday..."

"Was it good for you, too?" he batted his lashes at her.

She snorted, chancing a furtive glance down his chest. Anders did not miss it. "It occurs to me that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot."

"Really? I don't consider it a good day unless I'm chased by templars or Grey Wardens. Being chased by a pretty girl is always a nice change of pace." Anders also did not miss the rise of color in her cheeks. _A grouchy little blusher_. He thought, amused. He made a mental note of it.

"Yeah, well, sorry if I was rude."

"No harm done." he smiled, reaching into the chest for the maps. "So what's your real name?"

"It's Hawke." she said.

"Right, but I assume that's not your first name."

"You assume a great deal of things, it seems." she said.

"And I'm usually right. You really won't tell me? Pretty please with honey and chocolate and strawberries?"

"Hmm..." she tapped her lips with her index finger. "Since you asked so nicely...it's _Hawke_."

His shoulders rounded in defeat as he passed her the stack of papers. "Fine, fine. Here you go, Hawke. I hope these will serve your purpose."

She gazed down at the maps intently, then handed them to the dwarf. "Uhm, you'd better take a look at this Varric."

"Andraste's perky peaches!" he grinned. "You've gotta be shittin' me!"

"That good?" he asked.

"Better." He raised an eyebrow. "I almost don't want to know where you got them. That's how good they are."

"All for the best, I suppose. I wouldn't tell you anyway. Even a whore has to keep some secrets."

"Hey, Hawke..."

"Hey, no." she said quickly.

"Am I missing something?" Anders asked.

"Nothing important." she said, turning away. "Thanks for your help, Anders."

Although she was just as lovely from behind as from the front, Anders felt the need to stop her departure. He didn't know why he said it. In fact, there wasn't any real thought involved. His mouth just opened of it's own accord and said "You'll want a Grey Warden with you. Unless you want to become a Broodmother, that is. Personally, I think you look just fine with the one pair."

"Er, what?"

"Darkspawn. Grey Wardens can sense them."

"I've dealt with darkspawn before. I don't need your help. Besides, it's hard to miss them, they smell pretty bad."

"True, but I could tell you if one darkspawn was coming or a dozen. I could tell you if it was a genlock or an Ogre Alpha. Can your nose do that?"

"No, but..."

"See? You'll want me along."

"What are you going to do? Screw the darkspawn to death?"

"I'm a man of many talents." he smiled, lighting a tiny fire in the palm of his hand. "I'm also a competent healer and a decent cook. And should you need your bedroll warmed..."

"I won't. Trust me. But I will admit, we could use help with our expedition."

"At your service, then. You know where to find me if you need me."

She sighed. "I just know I'm going to regret this."

* * *

Hawke came back the next day, but he was busy when she arrived. With Julia, again.

"I'll miss you, darling." he said, stroking Julia's cheek tenderly.

"And I you." He kissed her and waved her off. And that was when he spotted Hawke. Well, he didn't really spot Hawke so much as she was standing outside his door and directly in his field of vision and he was forced to acknowledge her existence.

"Interesting." she said, when Julia was out of earshot.

"What is?" he asked, motioning for her to come in.

"Nothing. Nevermind."

She took a seat in an armchair and he poured her a glass of water. "Her name is Julia. She's a very lonely noblewoman. I'm sure you saw her unfortunate birthmark. She comes here every day and spoils me with home-cooked meals, fancy clothes and spectacular sex and all I have to do is listen to her and pretend to be her husband. I like Julia. She's one of my favorites."

"You like Julia's money, that's for sure."

"It isn't about the money." He sat on the edge of his bed and watched her take a tentative sip of the water, gazing up at him all the while.

"Then what is it about?"

"I enjoy what I do. It's fun. I get to meet interesting people, do sexy things, piss off the Chantry, _épater la bourgeoisie_. The coin is just an added bonus."

"Right, you're just sticking it to the man." she rolled her eyes.

"And in him too, sometimes." he grinned. "Why? Don't you enjoy your job? Or are you in it just for the coin?"

"I suppose there's some fulfillment involved, but I also don't get paid to have sex with desperate people."

"My patrons are hardly desperate. If they were, they'd go see Leonato. Most of the people who come see me are bored or mistreated by their spouses."

"You whore yourself to married women?!"

"And men." he said, plainly. "But I'm sure you didn't come just to talk about my line of work...or did you? I noticed your dwarf friend is strangely absent today. Should I close the door?"

She spat water out through her nose and began coughing violently. "Maker, no!"

"Alright, alright! Don't drown yourself." he laughed. "Would you like a towel?"

"I don't know. Is it clean? I'm hesitant to touch anything in this room."

He gave her a tired look and passed her a clean, folded towel. "So, why did you come here?"

"I thought it would be a good idea to get to know you better, since we'll likely be spending a few weeks together in the Deep Roads."

"Well, you already know I'm an apostate and a Grey Warden, so I guess I'm an open book. Feel free to _probe_ me."

She grimaced. "Must everything be innuendo with you?"

"Does it really bother you so?" he asked facetiously. He knew already that it did. It was written all over her face.

"I just...is your mind really that far in the gutter? Do you ever take anything seriously?"

"Not if I can help it. Why? Are you afraid I won't take you seriously?"

"Will you?"

"I haven't decided yet. Should I?"

She huffed in indignation. "I'm sure I don't care what a whore thinks of me, either way."

"Really? Not even a little?" He knew the answer to that as well. He was of the opinion that one didn't get into such a business without learning to read people.

"Not at all. Just do your part and we're square."

"I can do that." he said, reclining on his elbow and examining his nails. He was in desperate need of a manicure. "Any other questions, serah Grumpytits?"

"Wh-what did you just call me?"

"Your new nickname. Do you like it?"

Her eyes widened with horror, perhaps as she realized he might actually begin calling her this. "No, of course not! Don't call me that!"

"You won't tell me your real name and you don't care if I take you seriously, so why not?"

"Because it's offensive and degrading!"

He smiled. "Ah, so it's offensive and degrading to reduce someone to one facet of their personality, then? I didn't realize."

"Oh."

"Clever girl. So, are you going to interrogate me, or not? You can even strap me to the chair, if you prefer. Free of charge, of course."

"How much does it cost to gag you?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Not as much as you'd think. But then how would you get all the _juicy_ answers to your questions?"

She leaned back in the armchair, setting the glass of water down on the table and crossing her legs. "So, tell me about yourself."

"I'm not sure what you want to know. My name is Anders, I'm a mage. I have piercings in naughty places."

She shook her head. "I really didn't need to know that."

"It's a question I often get, I figured I'd just get it out of the way. Let's see, what else? I grew up in Kinloch Hold. I have been to the Deep Roads. More than once, unfortunately. I fought alongside the hero of Ferelden. How's that for qualification?"

"Impressive. What was she like?"

"Short. And very determined. You remind me of her, actually."

"Because I'm short?"

"Natia's a dwarf. So no, not really. She was spirited and deliberate and beautiful like you, though. And she wouldn't sleep with me. You have that in common as well...for now."

She ignored the comment. "So you helped fight the Archdemon?"

He laughed riotously. "Could you even imagine? No, this was in Vigil's Keep, after the Blight. That's a story for another day. What about you, Hawke? What's your story?"

"Not much to tell. I lived in a small town called Lothering my whole life, got away from the Blight by the skin of my teeth. Lost my brother Carver in the process. My sister Bethany is a mage. So was my father, but he's gone too. That's about all there is to tell. Not so impressive as yourself."

"Excuse me, but do my ears deceive me? I believe that was a compliment. To a whore, no less!"

"An observation." she said dismissively.

"I see. Well, you needn't be intimidated by my resume. I'm no hero. No, I'm but a supporting character in this story called life. Who the protagonist is...well that remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

"Somehow you even managed to sound arrogant saying that."

"Another talent of mine. You may recall me saying I have many. I did not exaggerate." he smirked. "Are you married?"

Her jaw dropped almost clean into her lap. Anders stifled a laugh at her expense. "Not that it's any of your business, but no. Why do you ask?"

"Passing fancy." he shrugged.

"I'll thank you to fancy something else, then."

He lowered his voice an octave until it rumbled deep in his chest. "Oh, but one can hardly help what they fancy, can they? Even if they fancy something...someone they know they shouldn't. Don't you agree?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Wouldn't you?" She fidgeted under his gaze and turned bright red in the cheeks.

"I just said I didn't." she snapped. "I think I've had my fill of...no, I think I've had enough of...I think I'll just be going now!"

He grinned. "Alright. I'll be here."

She got to the door and her shoulders suddenly and emphatically slumped. She turned and with great difficulty said "I have a job I need your help with tonight, if you would be so kind."

"What's the magic word?"

She scowled and stared down at his feet, refusing to meet his gaze for even a half beat. "Would you please help me with this job tonight, Anders?" she growled.

"Ah, I think I can manage that, since you asked so nicely. Come find me when you're ready."


	2. Under the Table

**Hope everyone had a nice Valentine's Day. **

**To preface this chapter: it does mention a quest, namely "Fools Rush In". However, I'm not a fan of direct reenactments of scenes from the game, so I don't include them in my stories if I don't have to. Also, the quest isn't really all that relevant so much as the part where they meet up with Isabela, so I cut it short. Hopefully that isn't off-putting. There are some dirty bits thrown in there to make up for it, if it is. :D**

**Here is some more Anders silliness for your amusement. Reviews are always appreciated. **

A rap at the door startled him from a restful nap. _Oh, right, Hawke._ He rolled out of bed and onto his feet, and almost as an afterthought, threw on a pair of pants. Light and laughter flooded the room as he cracked open the door, and as he suspected, Hawke was waiting for him outside dressed in an interesting assortment of chain and plate. _So she's a warrior. Or a really, really bad rogue._

"Anders." she nodded at him. "I see you're somewhat clothed this time. That's a start. How long will it take for you to be ready?"

"Just a minute. You can watch if you want."

"I'd sooner gouge my eyes out, but thanks for offering."

"That's me. Always thinking of others. I'll be right back."

He dug through his wardrobe looking for something, anything suitable enough for battle or espionage or whatever it was Hawke did. He still wasn't sure of that, actually, now that he thought about it. Was she a mercenary? A thief? A rat catcher? She hadn't mentioned the nature of the job she had in mind,

The only thing he still had from Vigil's Keep was his Chasind robes. _Hawke will just love this._ He snickered. The belts and laces were more complicated than he remembered, but he had deft little fingers and he made short work of it. As much as he liked pushing her buttons, he didn't want to know what actually being on her bad side involved. Probably disemboweling or beheading, judging by the size of the axe she carried. He was also pretty sure keeping her waiting too long would put him on it.

Finally he was (arguably) dressed for a night of adventure. He grabbed his staff and stepped outside his room, yet again.

He immediately failed her appraisal.

"What is that?" she nearly spat, taking more than a couple peeks at his pecks.

"It's a robe. I'm a mage. We can't all run into battle wearing metal suits. Well, we could, but it wouldn't end well."

"Don't you think it's a little...conspicuous for an apostate?"

"Perhaps, but not conspicuous for a whore." he countered.

"You look ridiculous."

"You look sexy. I love women with big hands." he winked.

She made an exasperated noise. "We'll get you something better next time we're in Hightown. Unless you intend to ply your trade to our enemies, that is. I wouldn't want to accidentally kill your clientele."

"Oh, I don't know. You keep sneaking glances down my chest, I'm becoming rather attached to this particular ensemble."

She scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself, whore."

"Sure thing, Grumpytits. Lead the way." he grinned. She shook her head and motioned for him to follow, and to her credit, did not even complain about him holding the door open for her.

"Anders, you've met Varric." Varric waved. "This is my sister Bethany. Bethany, Anders."

Bethany extended her hand for him to shake, and he took it, placing a delicate kiss on her skin. She did not have the same immediate effect as her sister, but she was pretty enough. "Charmed." he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She giggled. "Pleased to meet you."

Hawke sighed."Perhaps not so pleased once you realize where that mouth has been."

"Hawke, you never told me you had such a charming and beautiful sister. One might think you were trying to keep her from me. That will never do." Bethany blushed. _Must run in the family._

She furrowed her brow. "Keep it in your robes, slick. Isabela's waiting for us not far from here. With any luck we'll still have time for a drink at the Hanged Man later."

* * *

Isabela was pacing back and forth when they found her. "Hawke, you're finally here. Oh, hey Anders."

"Isabela. Always a pleasure."

"And how!"

"How do you two...? Oh Maker, is there anyone, anything you won't sleep with?" Hawke asked, crossing her arms and setting her jaw. _Was that...jealousy? Too precious!_

"The poor." Isabela answered for him.

He pointed at her and nodded. "What she said."

"Think you two can manage to not screw each other for a couple hours?"

In fact, Isabela was not one of Anders' clients. Not a paying client, anyway, and not with any regularity. They had slept with each other, of course. It would have been a crime if they didn't, but Isabela was more into men of the pointy-eared sort, so if given the choice between him and Jethann, she would spend her stolen coin on Jethann every time. He didn't take it personally. He wasn't about to correct Hawke either, however. Especially when she was so bad at hiding her emotions.

"Maybe, if I work really hard at it." he said.

"I promise nothing." Isabela said.

"Let's just get this over with." Hawke sighed finally.

And that's when the raiders ambushed.

Anders struck first with the instinctive fury of a seasoned mage, letting loose a fireball of epic proportions into their leader's face. Hawke dove forward, pushing the group back with her axe. Then she took a wicked chop at a thug's knees. He fell back with a groan and she beheaded him cleanly, spraying everyone with a fine mist of blood and gore. The mechanical clink and whirr of Varric's beloved crossbow sounded from behind Anders as he let loose three arrows into the nearest enemy. Bethany used a bolt of spirit lightning before one of them could land a blow on her sister, her staff ascending to the sky to call down a column of blue electricity. He could faintly hear Isabela yelling taunts, just out of his peripherals.

To Anders, magic was sex's only rival. It wasn't that he enjoyed killing, not exactly. It was the feeling of power coursing through his body, the hands of his mind dipping into the Fade to pull out a piece of pure energy, mercurial like liquid or light, and to bend it to his will. The air smelled metallic, like ozone and blood and steel. He was enthralled. And when it was all over, he felt like he should lay back and have a smoke, that was how good it was.

Hawke turned to him, covered in blood and guts and her own sweat and smiled. He chanced to wonder if she felt it too._ I knew I liked her._

* * *

He took a seat beside her at the table, bending one knee up to his chest. She glanced over at him then back down at her cards and did a doubletake. "What are you staring at?"

"You have lovely eyes. Do you know that?"

"That won't work on me, Anders. Unlike the floozies at your day job, I have standards." The silver haired elf with the unusual tattoos across the table smirked, not looking up from his cards.

"What? You asked what I was looking at and I told you. Why must it be a proposition?"

"Everything's a proposition with you." she said, then changed the subject. "Fifty red, who's calling?

"I'll take that bet." the white-haired elf said.

"Call." Isabela said.

"Fold. Again." the hulking beast of a redhead said. No surprise there, she had been folding since the game started.

"Sure, I'm in." Varric said.

"Oh my, I like the dress this lady is wearing. How do Priestesses have money for such elaborate dresses? Ohhh, it comes in blue, too." the Dalish girl said.

A universal groan erupted around the table. "Merrill, you're supposed to keep your cards a secret."

"Right." Merrill said. "I don't think I'm going to be very good at this game."

"You don't say." the other elf glowered.

"No need to be rude, Fenris." Isabela said, patting the elf on the lap. He turned to glare at her.

"What have I told you about touching me?" Fenris spat.

"I don't know. I wasn't listening at the time."

"I said 'don't do it.' Did you listen that time?"

"Hm?"

"_Venhedis!_ Hawke, may I switch seats with you?"

Hawke palmed her face. "Sure, but fair warning, this one might be handsy, too." she pointed at Anders.

"Fair warning, if he tries, I will kill him."

"Nice to meet you, too. I'm Anders, by the way."

Fenris snorted. "You are a mage. That is what I shall call you. That is all the name you need."

Anders furrowed his brow. "That might get confusing. What will you call Merrill? She's a mage too."

"No, she is a witch."

"Ah, a charmer, I see." he frowned. "You should consider a job at the Rose with that gilded tongue of yours." Fenris ignored him.

Isabela dealt a new hand, bearing her massive cleavage for all to see. Anders smiled and raised an eyebrow at her which earned him a playful exploratory foot under the table. "Deal me in." he said. It had been a long time since he played Diamondback, but it wasn't the type of game one forgot easily.

"So Anders, got any good stories from the Rose?" Varric asked.

"Sorry, Varric. Client confidentiality." Isabela foot inched up his leg and into his lap. _When did she remove her boots?_ He smiled to himself.

"Aw, come on Blondie! You can't tell me anything? What if I guess it?"

"Try again when I've had a few more to drink." he said. The pressure in his lap went away for a moment. "One silver. Any takers?" He looked up from his cards and Isabela was missing.

"Sure." Hawke said, throwing her coin in the pile. "Wait, where's Isabela?"

At that moment Anders realized exactly where Isabela was, which was under the table and furthermore, under his robes. She found the prize she was looking for, and took him full in his mouth. "Hmmm." he jerked forward. "Probably found something more interesting to do. Something dirty I'll bet." The head of his cock met the back of her throat and he suppressed a groan.

"You're probably right." Hawke sighed. "Maker's breath, she has a one track mind. It's no wonder you two know each other. I'm surprised you two aren't all over each other already." he smirked to himself. _If she only knew._ "Go on Aveline."

"Maybe...no. Fold." Aveline said.

"Sure, why the hell not?" Varric said, and tossed some coin in the pile.

"Too rich. I'm out." Fenris said.

"Ah..." Anders gasped as Isabela swirled her tongue along his shaft. "Yeah, I'm in."

"Show em'." Hawke said and turned over one of her cards. _The Magician_. Varric had a Queen and Anders revealed his Priestess.

"Damn." Varric said.

Isabela sucked her way down the length of him, his eyes closed reflexively and when he opened them again, Hawke was staring. "Are you going to bet or take a nap?" Under the table she pumped him eagerly with both hands. He had to give it to her, Isabela didn't do anything halfway. He was getting close already.

"Only if I can dream of you, princess." he said, threading the fingers of one hand through Isabela's tendrils and pushing his way further into her throat. "One silver."

"Interesting." Hawke mumbled, slamming her coin on the table. "Call."

"I'm out." Varric said.

"No kidding. Let's see what you've got." Hawke said, revealing her Queen. "Anders?"

Just then, euphoria ripped through him and into Isabela's waiting mouth. She lapped it up like a starved dog, her tongue sweeping against his swollen head. White stars appeared in his vision. He managed to stop a shudder before it happened, but he did grunt. He hoped the whole thing looked and sounded like fanfare to everyone else.

He turned over his card revealing another Priestess.

"Are you kidding me?! What are the chances?!" Hawke threw her arms in the air.

"Read em' and weep, sweetheart." He grinned, grabbing up his coin. The hem of his robe gently fell against his calves and Isabela patted him on the thigh. He returned the gesture by patting her on the head. He'd repay her later, but he was no rogue and he was hardly sneaky enough to try anything under the table.

"Wonderful. You're a braggart, too."

"Only when it's deserved." he smiled.

"I hate you." She huffed, dealing the next hand. "Fifty c. Who's in?"

"CALL." Aveline said for the first time that night, much too loudly.

"Out." Varric sighed.

"Fold." Fenris said.

"Not for me." Anders said.

"Fold." Hawke grumbled.

"What?! But I finally got a decent hand!" Aveline protested.

"You don't say." Fenris said again.

He turned to Hawke, she looked like she was about done for the night. "So Grumpytits, do you need help getting home?"

"Grumpytits?" Isabela asked, descending the stairs nonchalantly. "I like it. It suits you, Hawke."

Hawke grinded her teeth and stood to leave the table, clearly annoyed. He followed her, grabbing her by the shoulder and turning her toward him. "Hey, wait. Don't be like that. Let me buy you a drink."

"Like I want anything bought with the filthy money you whored yourself for." she growled.

"Well, I did win some of your money. Is that clean enough for you?" he stuck his tongue out at her. She rolled her eyes and tried to pull away. "Oh come on, you have to admit you had that one coming."

"You're an ass."

"Sweetheart, if that's the worst I've been called, I'll consider it a bad day. Now let me buy you a couple drinks and if you don't smile at least once, I promise I'll bugger off. If you do, I get to walk you home."

She sighed. "One drink, and if you call me sweetheart, princess, Grumpytits or anything else besides Hawke even once I'm leaving."

"You've got it, Hawke." he smiled, waving the barkeep over. "What'll you have?"

"Whiskey. Neat." she grumbled.

"My kind of girl. I'll have the same." he said to Corff. He turned back to Hawke. "So, what's your real name?"

"This again? How many times are you going to ask?"

"As many times as it takes for you to tell me. And then maybe one more, just to see how red you turn." he grinned.

"What about you? Your real name can't be Anders."

"It could. Depends on how much my parents liked me, I suppose."

"Don't you know?"

"Oh, I assume they did. Right up until the part where I started showing the Maker's curse, of course. That's probably about the same time I became Anders, I'd wager."

She sighed. "Don't you know _your real name_?"

"Of course I do." he said.

"Well?"

"Ah ah ah, you first."

"I don't actually care all that much. I was just making a point." she scoffed. Corff reappeared with their drinks right about then. She tossed hers back and shook her head, biting off the scowl like an experienced drinker.

"You really don't want to know? It could be something ridiculous like 'Boris' or 'Fester.'" he grimaced. "Those are Anders names, I believe."

She chuckled. "Well, is it?"

"No, but you never know. And you smiled. I win again." he gulped down the bitter liquid and slammed down his glass. "You ready to go?"

"Best two out of three." she scowled.

He shook his head. "You know, this will only get more difficult the more you drink. I have no problem getting you trashed, but it might be easier on your iron ego to let me win, just this once."

"Yeah, but I don't want you to know where I live."

"Oho! That one _touched_." he said, grabbing his heart. "Fine, another drink it is." Corff came and refilled their drinks. Then, after a moment or two, "So, what's your real name?" he asked again.

"Andraste's tits! Will you come off it, already? Hawke may as well be my real name. It's all anyone calls me anymore."

"So your sister calls you Hawke? Your mother? That must be awkward for them."

"No, but they don't count."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because I don't want you calling me by my first name. Ever."

"If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?"

"Maybe."

"You've got to promise never to call me it...unless you're screaming it while I..."

"Never, gotcha."

"Never say never." he wagged his eyebrows at her. "Stranger things have happened."

"There's not enough liquor in Thedas, Anders. But fine, I promise I'll never say your name."

He leaned in and whispered it in her ear, drawing out the syllables long and low.

After a second or two she shook her head out of a daze. "Really?"

"Why would I lie?" He sucked back his drink. "Your turn."

"Marian." she said. His jaw dropped. "What?"

"It's beautiful." he leaned in close to her face. "Just like you." she simpered and opened her mouth like she was about to say something, then closed it and blushed some more. He smirked. "I win again."

She cursed. "Three out of four."

"If I didn't know any better I'd think the mighty Hawke enjoyed spending time with me."

She snorted. "Yeah right." Then emptied her drink down her throat.

"So what do you suppose is going to happen once I find out where you live? I'm going to stand outside your window and watch you sleep? Send you disturbing love letters? Show up naked in your bed?"

"Are you brainstorming or something?"

He looked her in the eye. "No, and I certainly don't have a list of ideas hung above my bed, right next to the row of tally marks I keep for each time you scowl at me. I'm starting to think there's not enough wall space."

She looked away. "Are you going to get me that drink or not?"

"Corff, one more for the lady and I." Corff nodded and went to work pouring their drinks. "I have better things to do than stalk you, you know."

"Yeah, like everyone in Hightown."

"So, if you know I'm not going to harass you, what's the big deal? Why not let me walk you home?"

She shook her head. "First tell me why you're so keen on the idea in the first place."

"It may occur to you that I don't want you to die. It would be an awful shame if you ended up in a ditch somewhere. Then I couldn't bug you so much, and that's become a pet project of mine."

"You mean you couldn't constantly try to get in my pants."

"That too." he grinned.

"Look, it may occur to _you_ that I'm not...I'm not proud of my living arrangements." she sighed.

"Oh? Is that what this is about?" he laughed. "I've slept in some very strange places, especially while fleeing the Circle. I doubt your place is going to bother me."

"Just drop it, alright? Let's drink this and go."

"Fine, fine." he said, as they both tossed back their drinks. "Let's be off, then." She waved to the rest of her friends and he trailed her out the exit and into the streets.

It was a surprisingly quiet night in Lowtown. Anders was expecting to be ambushed by the Sharps, as they'd been particularly active as of late, but none showed. It wasn't that far of a walk, and when she stopped in front of the dusty hovel, she frowned.

"Well, this is it." she said, motioning toward the building. "In all its filthy glory."

He furrowed his brow. "So...it's made of paper or something?"

"No?" she said, confused.

"There are rats the size of ostriches in the walls?"

"Not that I know of."

"It's literally held together with darkspawn bile?"

"Of course not!"

"I don't get it, then."

She sighed. "What?"

"Am I supposed to be taken aback or something? Why all the secrecy?"

"I don't know. It's shabby and there are holes in the walls. It's a dump."

"I've seen worse. Much worse. That's why I don't do house calls anymore." he smiled.

She shrugged. "If you say so." She ascended the stairs and turned the key in the lock, then turned back to him. "Hey."

"Hey, what?"

She twisted her lips into what Anders might almost qualify as a smile. "Thanks."


	3. Tsundere

**I'm so sorry for how long this chapter took me to finish. I became engrossed in writing my other story and this (among other projects, soon to be revealed) fell by the wayside. This chapter was a pain to write in general without everything seeming disjointed and weird. The story just did it's own thing and formed a series of drabbles between Hawke and Anders. Hopefully they make you smile or laugh or whatever. If not, I really did do my best and we'll be back to something more substantial next time.**

**So here we go: 5 times Hawke smiled and 1 time Anders didn't.**

There were many jobs in the weeks that followed, and Hawke found an excuse to bring him around on each one. At least, that's what it seemed like to Anders, not that either of them were willing to discuss it. He questioned the necessity for him to be there to help her deliver tinctures to embarrassed mages in Darktown, but he wasn't bothered by it, not at all. He enjoyed the thrill of finally being able to use his magic again, and if he also got to spend time with beautiful women, well, even better.

Her visits eventually became so frequent that Madam Lusine ambushed him in his room late one night to tell him that she was losing business due to his absence. She accused him of being in love, of all things. He scoffed, reassuring her that he was networking when he wasn't in the Rose, and that the new clients would offset any perceived losses. Besides, most of his regulars came during the day, and Hawke mostly needed him at night. Lusine was skeptical, but didn't press the issue and allowed him to continue as long as her profits didn't go down. If they did, she said he'd have to find somewhere else to sleep, and Anders agreed.

As for he and Hawke, they had what Anders might call a burgeoning rapport for one another. Not a friendship by any stretch of the imagination. Hawke didn't seem to keep friends other than the dwarf. She was certainly less of an insufferable harpy than she was before, but Hawke's ability to be genial with him fluctuated with the hour and at times, as often as the wind changed. She certainly did not concede any kind of attraction to him. Anders mused that she probably thought it might affect her no nonsense reputation to get mixed up with a whore. Nonsense was one of the two things Anders did best, and he got paid for both, sometimes. On rare and celebrated occasions, both at the same time.

Still, she invited him to play Diamondback every week and rarely complained when he walked her home anymore. That was something, at least.

On one particular night she seemed to be in an uncharacteristically good mood, and in no hurry for that matter. He thought at first it was gloating, since she'd taken him for all he had that night, but she seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself. She strolled casually out of the Hanged Man at his side and regarded him with something like a smile.

He looked at her with a lopsided grin. "What are you so happy about?"

It was a real smile now, rare as they were. She blew a rogue strand of hair out of her eyes playfully. That damnable cowlick well earned his contempt since he'd met her. He couldn't fathom how she could tolerate her vision constantly being impaired by defiant locks of hair, let alone how she managed to fight so well with it in her face like that. It taunted him until it took all his willpower not to reach over and tuck it behind her ear or singe it at it's accursed root, but he rather liked his hands so he resisted, somehow.

"I have half the money for the expedition."

His heart dropped. "Oh? Just now?"

"Yep. Thanks to you."

He knew the day would come along at some point or another, but he had hoped..._oh, what does it matter?_ "That's...that's great, Hawke."

She scrunched her forehead and shot him an inquisitive glance, the demon hair quickly stealing it's opportunity to replace itself in front of her eye. "What?"

"Not a thing. Why?"

"You're not your typical libidinous self tonight. In fact, you're almost tolerable. Maybe I should beat you more often."

"Kinky."

"I knew I shouldn't have said anything. I hate you, you know."

"Keep saying that, sweetheart. Maybe one day you'll believe it."

She ignored the comment. "Anyway, I expect it will be a few more weeks before we can ship out. I'm sure Lusine will be pleased to see your schedule let up. Let alone half the women in Hightown."

"Only half, now? Wow, I must be losing my touch. Out of practice, maybe. We should remedy that."

"Not on your life."

"But my livelihood is on the line! You don't want me showing up at your doorstep looking for a place to stay, do you?"

"I'm going to buy a really big dog as soon as I move to Hightown for that very reason."

"Cold as ice." he laughed, turning the corner to Gamlen's hovel. "Look, Hawke, this may sounds stupid, but for some masochistic reason I enjoy working with you."

"Point being?"

"Point being that it doesn't need to end after the expedition. I'm sure the city still has plenty of work for you, what with the Qunari and the blood mages and such."

"I'll keep that in mind." she said, noncommittally, ascending the stairs. "Night, Anders."

"Goodnight." he said.

* * *

"Do you have something to say, Anders?" Hawke asked through her teeth. She'd been scowling particularly hard for the past hour since she gave the Coterie's cargo to the poor lad Pryce.

"You helped that little boy." Anders said.

"What of it?" He was standing behind her but he could feel her rolling her eyes at him.

"You didn't have to. In fact, it would have been better for your purse if you hadn't."

"So?"

"So..." he grinned. "You're a softie."

"No."

"You're a teddy-bear, you are! Awwwww."

"Stop."

"You know, I like cuddling. Especially big, soft, squishy things. Like you, for example. We should cuddle, is what I'm saying. Right now, if you want."

She turned on a dime, a matter of mere inches from his face, her eyes glowing like hot coals. "Try it, and you die, tramp."

He backed away, his eyes the size of dinner plates. "Alright, alright, forget I said anything." then muttered "pussycat" under his breath, just loudly enough for her to hear.

She shook her head. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to...to..."

"Mount me in the streets and put me through my paces? Oh, I know, I look forward to it." he winked.

"GRAHHHHH!" she shouted, and stomped off toward her hovel.

But when he moved forward to catch her by the shoulder and apologize, he didn't miss her mile wide grin.

* * *

"Have you ever been in love, Anders?" Bethany asked him out of the blue.

Hawke paused her haggling with the Lowtown merchant to turn and glare at her sister.

The younger Hawke was always sincere and sweet, sometimes cloyingly so. Still, she was a breath of fresh air compared to Hawke. And she made no effort to conceal her infatuation with him. _Endearing._

"That's a bit personal, isn't it?"

Hawke laughed. "Everyday you subject me to your graphic tales of sexual conquest and this is too personal for you?"

"That's why feelings happen on the inside. Because they're private." he said.

"I don't get you." she said and resumed her transaction.

"Oh? Have you tried? I've heard I'm actually quite easy."

* * *

"You're a churlish pig, Anders!" she screamed, ramming down the door to his suite.

"And you're an uptight prude." he yawned, setting aside his book. "Are we playing this game now? I should warn you, you hear a lot of mean names working for a brothel."

Her nostrils flared wide and she huffed. "I just had the most awkward conversation of my life. I had to explain to Merrill what a "templar strawberry" is, and why she shouldn't go to the Gallows and ask for one. I'm not even certain I gave her the right answer!"

He burst out laughing. "Are you serious?"

"Does it look like I'm joking?!"

_No, in fact, I'm scared out of my wits right now. And a little turned on._ He cleared his throat quietly and choked back a laugh.

"So...what did you tell her?"

"Andraste's flaming bush!"

"Or anyone else's, in a pinch."

A ghost of a smile crossed her features before she became severe again. "I don't know why I bother."

"Because you like me?"

"Nope. I guess it will forever remain a mystery."

* * *

Hawke retched into a ditch just outside the Hanged Man. Patrons entering and leaving the tavern carefully sidestepped her. Anders held her hair back and rubbed gentle circles onto her back.

"Saw that one coming." he said. She gave him a biting stare, right before she heaved once more. "That's it. Get it all out."

Finally she fell back against the wall and sighed, closing her eyes. She looked decidedly less green than before, at least.

"Feel better?"

"Why are you here?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"Er, to play Diamondback?"

"No, why are you here?" she gestured in front of her.

"You mean in a philosophical sense? I haven't given it much thought."

"I can take care of myself, you know."

"Just like you said you can handle your liquor? Mmmhmm, I see."

"Answer."

"Because I wanted to see the mighty Hawke spew up her own weight in whiskey?" She rolled her eyes. "Or - and I know this is a stretch - but I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Why?" she asked, as though the idea offended her.

"You're asking an awful lot of questions tonight. I don't know, actually. You're mean, you're judgmental and you have terrible manners. I can't imagine why I put up with you."

She scrunched her brow and folded her arms across her chest. "I couldn't care less what you think of me. There's nothing stopping you from leaving if you don't like me."

"I never said I didn't like you."

Her eyes softened and her lips curled at the edges, ever-so-slightly. He had a notion to lean forward and kiss her, but then realized she would probably break him in two if he did. He simply patted her on the shoulder and made his way back to the entrance of the tavern.

"Let me know when you're ready to go." he said.

* * *

They found Ninette's remains. Anders - having spent quite some time in her service - was understandably devastated.

Ninette was a free-spirit. A happy, carefree woman who understood that life was too damn short for inhibitions. He'd always enjoyed her company and it was heartbreaking to see her this way.

"You alright, Blondie?"

He stared at the severed hand and tried to make sense of it, why anyone would think to do such a thing to someone like Ninette? He drew a complete blank. He simply nodded.

"Did you know her?" Bethany asked softly, stepping closer to caress his shoulder.

"You might say that." Hawke said under her breath.

All three of them turned to gape at her with incredulity. How could she be so callous? Was he not allowed to have feelings? Was he not human?

"What? He's a whore." she said, as though it made things better.

And that's when it struck him that no, to her he wasn't human. To her he would never be more than a walking, talking fuckstick. She truly believed that she was better than him by virtue of not being a whore.

"Bye." he said and marched out of the Foundry. He didn't even look back to see if she followed, or if she noticed his departure at all. He just didn't care.


	4. Stymied

**This chapter is dedicated to my friend, the always lovely JenniferHawke. You're alright. In fact, I think I'll keep you around for a bit. :)**

He had no desire to speak to or even see Hawke in the days that followed. For all he cared she could brave the bloody Deep Roads in her smalls if she wanted. He instructed Viveka to tell her that he wasn't around, or that he was with a client if she came by and Lusine was more than happy to send more work his way.

Hawke left messages for him nearly every day. Most of them invited him to join her and the crew for a job or for a card game at the Hanged Man. None of them included an apology, however. Anders ignored them all.

_If Hawke wants to see me so badly, let her pay like everyone else._

The Blooming Rose held a vigil for Ninette, and if Anders was any judge, it was lovely. Jethann was the most broken up about it. He had to take a few days off to "figure things out."

Perhaps the unavailability of her favorite whore was why Isabela came to visit him.

"Long time no see." Isabela grinned, sashaying through his door. She helped herself and poured a tumbler of whiskey from the decanter at his bedside.

A part of him was annoyed. He had no doubt that she meant to try and convince him to come work for Hawke again, and he really didn't want to talk about that piggish witch. But another part inside of him - one that he was not willing to acknowledge - rejoiced.

"The usual?" he asked, tugging at his laces.

"I have a usual? Oh Maker, have I become that boring? Next thing you know I'll be hanging up my boots for something more practical and buying timeshares in Orlais."

"There's nothing wrong with knowing what you like." he countered. "I appreciate that about you, Isabela. You have no unnecessary hangups. You see something you want and you go for it."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." she said. She tossed back her drink and straddled his hips.

He smiled mischievously, or more mischievously than standard. "I know, that's why I do it." he slipped a hand up the back of her thigh to squeeze her overripe ass. "Shall I continue?"

"You'll find no arguments here."

"You're so nonjudgmental. I like that in a woman."

She groaned as he pulled her smalls down her thighs. "And?"

"And you've never scowled at me even once."

She rolled her eyes, pushing herself off of him and setting her underclothes aright.

"What?"

"Do you even listen to yourself? Ugh. You used to be so much fun."

"What?" he repeated, louder.

"You were talking about Hawke! What a waste of a perfectly good sovereign."

He creased his brow deeply. _Here it comes._ "I was not."

"Yes, you were." she sighed. "And she's no better. All she does is talk about you, and how stupid you are, and how it's so much better now that you aren't around."

"And she wonders why I don't answer her messages. Shrew."

Isabela frowned. "But don't you see? That's her little defense mechanism. She's trying to protect herself."

"So she's a shrew with baggage. And that's better...how exactly?"

"You really are dense, aren't you? She's a virgin. She doesn't want to get mixed up with someone who's only going to break her heart."

Anders' eyes widened to triple their size. _A virgin? Interesting. Wait, should I actually be surprised that no one wants to bump uglies with Princess Frigidbits?_

Still, it did explain a thing or two. Like why she was such a prude.

"Well, no worries there. I'm not interested."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find Serendipity before the Seneschal makes an appearance."

Anders slumped back on his bed. _Afraid of getting hurt? A likely story._

Even if it was true, Anders was not so easily swayed. At least, his mind wasn't. The thought of deflowering Hawke drove him just about mad until he had no choice but to abuse himself. Twice.

He and his cock made a silent, mutual agreement to never speak of the incident again.

* * *

That night as he lay sleeping he heard a thunderous crash and light erupted into his room, so bright as to temporarily blind him. Anders startled and nearly fell from his bed. He thought for a moment that it was Denier again, too drunk to find his own damn suite. He sighed and stumbled out of bed to push the bumbling lout out the door.

"Help."

The voice was so quiet and vulnerable that his jaw almost touched the floor when he saw the face behind it.

She sat in a pool of her own blood, clutching her side as though it would fall away from her if she didn't. Her lips were blue and trembling.

"Hawke!" he gasped, falling to her side. He pulled her hand away from the wound and they both winced. "What happened?" he asked, as he began to heal her.

"The Sharps." she said through her teeth.

"Maker's breath! The Sharps are a Lowtown gang! Did you walk all the way here with this injury?"

She nodded and placed a freezing hand on his shoulder for stability.

"Why were you walking alone in Lowtown in the middle of the night?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "Going home from the Hanged Man."

_Diamondback._

Guilt lanced through him. Differences aside, Hawke should not have been alone this late at night. Villains like the Sharps targeted solitary women. It was inexcusable on his part.

"You're lucky to be alive."

"I gave worse than I got." she said, allowing the faintest of smirks to play over her lips.

Slowly the wound began to fuse itself back together, but not without leaving a scar. It was angry purple and black and she would always wear it, if Anders ventured to guess. He sank back onto his heels and sighed with relief and exhaustion in equal parts.

"Sorry." she said. It was the most reluctant, unapologetic sounding apology he'd ever heard. Like a surly child being made to mind her manners by her elders.

"For what, exactly?"

"For being..." she mumbled the next part "inconsiderate about your feelings."

"Wow, you're really putting yourself out there, aren't you?" he chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I have a policy of not scolding people when they've just come within an inch of their life." She merely grunted in approval.

He helped her into a chair and crossed over to his dresser, retrieving a bundle of blankets. "Strip." he said.

"What?!"

"You're chilled to the bone. Your clothes are not helping. You don't need to add hypothermia to your list of problems right now. Strip."

"I refuse!"

He palmed his face, but then a wicked idea crossed his mind. "Or we could try transferring some of my body heat..."

"Turn around." she growled.

Leather and chain and plate piled at his feet and when he turned back, she was swaddled in a mountain of blankets, looking much less cold. He had Viveka boil some water for tea and sat back on his bed to watch her shuffle uncomfortably while she drank it. She was the one to break the silence.

"Are you going to come back to work now?" she asked, softly.

"I am at work. The Rose is always open for business. Although, I hardly think you're in any position to..."

"You know what I meant."

He did know what she meant, but he wasn't sure what he intended to do. He hardly believed that Hawke was going to stop being herself for his sake, and she was hostile at the best of times. Though, he did have to admit that he missed using his magic.

"I don't know, Hawke. As sweet and charming as you are, somehow I still feel like I don't quite fit in."

She scowled and sighed to herself. "We need a healer."

"You have Bethany."

"We need a _good_ healer."

"Sounds like a real dilemma. Remind me again how this affects me."

"Sodding piece of..." she stopped herself and shook her head. "Fine, but only because I really am that desperate."

"Oh, I feel ever so wanted."

"Anders, will you please come work for me again?" she asked.

Beyond the mask of aversion, there was hint of sincerity in her voice that Anders suspected she didn't mean to include. She blushed and looked away, and he was certain of it.

"Said the magic word and everything. I suppose I'll just have to consider it."

"You're so kind."

"Aren't I, though? How are you feeling, by the way? You look warm."

She nodded. "Much better. I guess I should be going, then."

He jolted forward. "What? No, you're staying here."

"Like hell I am." she growled.

"Have you learned nothing from your little brush with death?"

"If you think I'm staying in this filthy house of ill repute you are sadly mistaken."

"Ugh! See, this is why I left. You are impossible to deal with!"

"Because I don't want to sleep in a bed crusted with sweat and seed and Maker-knows-what? Yeah, what a hard-ass."

"You'd rather get yourself killed just on principle? Am I really so disgusting to you that you can't wait until morning to leave? You know what, don't answer that. Put your damn clothes on."

Her eyebrows disappeared behind her hair. "You're kicking me out?"

"No, Hawke. I'm walking you home." he said exasperatedly. He was tired of this game she insisted on playing and he just wanted to be done with her. "For the last time."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean I'm done. You obviously don't even think of me as a human being. I think it's better if we go our separate ways, but I won't see you mugged or raped or murdered on the way home. Go on, get dressed."

"No!" she shouted, probably waking the whole of Hightown with the force of her voice. Then, much more quietly "I'll stay."

"What makes you think that offer is still on the table?"

Her nostrils flared and the vein in her forehead looked like it might burst. "I'm not disgusted by you." she muttered, looking away. "Just don't try anything."

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart." He dug through his dresser until he came upon an old worn house robe of his. He tossed it across the room at Hawke, who eyed it suspiciously. "For Maker's sake, it's clean! Come on, now. Do you really think I've been running around the room ejaculating on everything?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you do when I'm not around." she said.

"I'll say." He turned to give her some privacy and climbed into the far end of the bed. "You can sleep on that side, that way you won't have to awkwardly climb over me if you're in a hurry to leave tomorrow."

"In the same bed?!"

He caught a glimpse of her in his soft, grey robe and couldn't help but admire the fit on her. The creamy expanse of thigh was still mostly on display, but there was nothing obscene about it. It looked better on her than it ever did on him.

"Do you see any other ones in here? I assure you, there are no empty beds in the Rose. Or would you rather bunk with Jethann?"

"Maker no!" she said.

"Then stop complaining and snuggle." She glowered at him with the force of a thousand storms. "Kidding! That was a joke."

She settled under the covers, as far away from him as physically possible without falling off the bed and it wasn't long before her breathing became even and soft with sleep. Anders himself had no such luck.

_Traitorous cock!_

_Wretched woman with her intoxicating scent!_

_Evil Isabela for putting that image in my head!_

_Stupid brain! Stop thinking!_

She was turned away from him and submerged in the blankets up to her shoulders, but even the white flesh on the back of her neck with the dark, wispy hairs feathering it was exciting to him. That was a little disconcerting. He'd slept with scores of women, many of them much better looking, and most of them much nicer than her. Yet here he was fawning and salivating over Hawke. It was pathetic.

There really was no option for him. He didn't think he was sneaky or quiet enough for a covert wank, so he didn't have the luxury of rubbing one out and forgetting it ever happened. He couldn't ignore her, try as he might. All he could do was be uncomfortably aware of her presence and the residence she'd claimed in the back of his mind.

By some act of the Maker he did manage to fall asleep, though it was much later and the sun was already peeking over the horizon line to stare in accusation.

* * *

He awoke to the feeling of warm breath on his back. An arm encircled him from behind as she nuzzled into him. He turned toward the sleeping form and buried himself in her neck, pulling her flush against him and threading his legs through hers.

He was accustomed enough to waking up beside someone else that it didn't rouse him, but it was rare and sweet and he did enjoy cuddling when he could. She murmured his name softly in her sleep and went limp in his arms. A pleasant start to the morning, indeed.

Then they both realized at the same time what she said and who they were coiled around and two pairs of eyes snapped open at once.

"Anders!"

"That's my name, don't wear it out. Or do, hmmm, that's a thought."

She made no motion to escape him at first. Her mouth opened and closed as though she were frantically scouring her brain for anything to say.

"What are you doing?!" she finally snapped, still tangled with him.

"Well, I'm not certain, but I appear to be cradling you delicately in my embrace. That's new. You don't seem especially upset about it, seeing as how you just called out my name."

She opened her mouth to protest but he captured her lips with his.

For a moment, she became completely pliant. She yielded way to his tongue and even kissed back, tentatively at first, and then hungrily with her fingers knitting into his hair. She rocked her hips against him and groaned into his mouth. He returned the favor and pulled away to gather breath, his hand hooking under her thigh to pull her onto him till he could feel the damp heat escaping from inside her.

And that's when things got confusing.

"Shit!" she said, slapping his hand away from her breast. "Shitshitshit!"

"What? Whatwhatwhat?" he asked.

She dismounted him and sat on the edge of the bed, palming her face and dragging her nails through her hair. "I'm not ready."

He propped himself up on his elbow and rubbed her back gently through the robes. "Alright, we'll take things slow, then." At once, he wasn't sure why he said that. It was as though someone else possessed him and spoke through him in that moment. Someone incredibly stupid.

She made an exasperated noise and began pacing the floor in front of his bed. "No. This should have never happened to begin with."

"Really? You seemed to enjoy it enough while it was happening."

"It was a mistake." she said, waving her arms for emphasis, as though it would help her case.

"Which one of us are you trying to convince?"

"It meant nothing, Anders."

This made him irrationally angry, for reasons he couldn't fathom. A little bomb inside him detonated, and he wanted to wring her neck and kiss it, both at the same time. "Just what are you so afraid of, anyway? Do you think I've never been with a virgin before?"

"I'm sure you've been with hundreds. That's the point."

"Yes, I've taken hundreds of maidenheads. In mass deflowering rituals. When the moon is full and my power reaches it's full potential, I lift all the skirts in the Free Marches at once and BAM! No more virgins! In fact, I'm also rutting twelve of them as we speak! Mothers hide your daughters, Anders is in town!"

"I need to go."

"And what? Just pretend this never happened?"

"Great idea. Let's do that." She retrieved the pile of armor from the corner and moved toward the door.

"So we're just going to ignore the giant bloody dragon in the room forever, then?"

"Glad you and I are on the same page."

He grabbed her by the arm. "Well, what if I don't want to pretend it never happened? What if I want you? What if I want to see where this goes?"

She furrowed her brow deeply at him and snatched her arm away. "It's going nowhere, Anders. Like I said, it meant nothing. I'll see you later."

She slammed the door behind her, leaving him standing there with the feedback of her voice echoing in the halls of his brain and ringing in his ears.

Why did he say those things? Why was he letting her get under his skin like this? Why did she have to be such a raging bitch all the bloody time?

Why did the room feel so much emptier without her?

Confusion gave way to aggravation. He threw an empty glass across the room and watched it shatter to the floor in a thousand pieces, splattering the wall with the remains of her tea. He swiped his face hard with the broad of his hand.

_It meant nothing._


	5. Templar Strawberry

**I'm still basking in all the lovely, glorious feedback you guys left me from the last chapter! Thank you for your kind words. I have decided to reward you with another chapter. I hope that is sufficient. :) **

_It meant nothing._ He told himself. He wasn't convinced. He was just beginning to realize what he didn't fully understand yet. He wanted Hawke. He wanted more than her lips against his, or the skin between her legs, he wanted Hawke entirely. He wanted to know what she was like when she wasn't trying to be tough. He wanted to see her at her most vulnerable and to bare himself before her in ways he'd never done for anyone else. What he wanted was unacceptable.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if she was actually willing to give him a chance. He could forgive himself for having feelings for her, he was only human after all and the heart wants what it wants, unfortunately. But unrequited feelings? Certainly not.

He felt compelled to prove to her that she had no power over him. That if it meant nothing to her, it certainly meant nothing to him.

It started out with Guardsman Brennic, a romp in a back alley that ended loudly and enthusiastically. Norah from the Hanged Man was next, and he came out of the broom closet marked by teeth and claws and a blooming purple bruise over his eye. Then there was a quick tryst with Grace before they left the Wounded Coast approach. Hawke leveled a glance full of daggers at him as he emerged from the cave, wiping the corner of his mouth. She shook her head and walked away.

Then he moved on to bigger prey. Tallis, the perky elf with the clever mouth, in more ways than one. Dougal the shady dwarf who was surprisingly submissive and affectionate. The viscount's son Saemus who talked dirty in Qunlat. Isabela congratulated him on that one, she'd been trying at him for weeks with no luck. Now she knew why.

Then he got cocky. Then came Leandra. That one he was particularly proud of, and made a point to leave one of his earrings behind for Hawke to find. The next day he asked her "Who's your daddy?!" after beating her at Diamondback and she couldn't even look him in the eye.

He also took extra work at the Rose, just to let Hawke know that he wasn't sitting around waiting for her to show up with a job.

On one day, when she came to gather him he had Viveka make her wait until he was done. The look on her face as he descended the stairs with Julia slung over his shoulder was priceless. _Meant nothing, indeed._ He thought, patting Julia on the bum a few times and then setting her carefully on her feet.

"What are you doing?" Hawke asked, sharp eyes piercing his.

"My job." he replied in a bored voice. "Problem?"

"Working overtime, I see."

"It's hard work but someone has to do it."

"This isn't getting old for you yet?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

"I mean all the sleeping around for show."

_So she has noticed. Good._ "No, I sleep around because it's fun, and because _it's my job_, not that I need an excuse. And to answer your first question, no, it never gets old. You should try it sometime, it might do you a world of good. I do offer a reasonable discount to friends. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's actually a queue in front of you. You'll have to wait your turn." he said, putting his arm around Dulci de Launcet and guiding her toward the staircase.

"Anders..." Hawke called quietly.

He inclined his ear gently toward her. "Yes?"

She sighed emphatically. "Nothing. Maybe I'll see you at Diamondback later."

He nodded. "Maybe so."

He made his way back to his suite, Dulci in tow, and only stopped for a second to glance back at Hawke making her way toward the exit. Her shoulders drooped just enough for him to notice from his distance. It was a victory of sorts, but it felt hollow.

* * *

The following week he found himself drinking at the Hanged Man with Isabela after their card game. He already escorted Hawke home. It was fast becoming an awkward affair for them, but he didn't care to have a repeat of what happened a few weeks earlier. As difficult as she made it to actually like her, he didn't wish any real or lasting harm on her. But if she woke up one morning with a giant bubble-butt or great, swinging tits that got in the way of her axe-wielding, he wasn't going to cry about it.

He was beginning to actually feel his buzz when Isabela set her mug down and plopped into his lap.

"You're taking things well." she said. "I thought you'd go on a rampage, but you haven't said a word about it."

"What are you on about?" he asked as his fingers trailed up the side of her thigh.

"Hawke and her thing with that templar."

He paused. "What thing?"

Isabela's eyes grew to three times their size. "You mean you didn't know? Shit."

"What thing, Isabela?"

"Nothing, forget I mentioned it." she said, slipping a deft hand into his lap to cup his now flaccid length.

He grabbed her by the wrist. "Tell me."

She swallowed hard and her eyes darted across the table to Varric. The dwarf waved his hands in front of him and shook his head. She gave him a frustrated look and mouthed the words "gee, thanks."

"Out with it!" he snapped.

He did not know what he was expecting her to say, but if it involved templars, he felt he had a right to know. Had they asked about him? Was Hawke in danger? Were they threatening to take Bethany away? Did Hawke finally grow tired of him and turn him in? He doubted that last one, but he could never know for sure with her.

"Fine." Isabela sighed. "It's no big deal, really. She just had a...a _thing_ with that Cullen fellow. I guess it didn't work out like she planned, because it was only that one time."

"You mean..." she nodded. "But that guy is a complete and utter tool!"

She shrugged. "A pretty tool."

"You're not helping, Rivaini." Varric piped up.

His fists clenched at his sides. He could barely make sense of all his feelings, all the anger and jealousy and betrayal coursing through him. He thought the only reason she left that morning was because she wasn't "ready," but apparently it was just him. She must have decided that he wasn't good enough for her, after all. And of all the people in Kirkwall she could have chosen over him, she chose a templar! Not only a templar, but the second highest ranking templar in the city, and a bigoted one at that. Obviously that was meant as a slap in the face.

"Excuse me. I just remembered, I have somewhere to be." Anders said, pushing Isabela from his lap and marching toward the door. She ran to block his exit.

"Let me through." he said evenly.

"So you're just going to storm her uncle's house in the middle of the night? You're going to catch a broken face." Then after a beat. "Can I watch?"

He glared at her until she backed away. Then he pushed through the door into the Lowtown streets.

It wasn't that he felt possessive. If she wanted to sleep with someone else, more power to her. But this was more than that. She pushed him aside for some lyrium-addled, templar half-wit when there was obviously chemistry between them. And then there was the fact that she had a one-night-stand with some nobody who she never intended to see again, even after she'd spent all this time judging him for his lifestyle. The hypocrisy was not lost on him.

The night air was cool and crisp and quiet, and it only infuriated him. Downpour would have been preferable. Thunder and lightning should have crashed to herald his approach. He would make her stand out in the rain, or worse, invite him in. But then, the weather in Kirkwall was rarely what he wanted it to be.

He stood at the door for a moment, seething and fuming and he almost lost his nerve. What part of this was any of his business? He didn't own Hawke. He didn't want to. Maybe it was better this way. If ever he was looking for an excuse to move on, it was staring him in the face. Things could go back to how they were before she showed up and complicated everything.

But that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted answers, he wanted an apology, and even after everything, he still wanted her. If he couldn't have her, then he wanted to know why, dammit!

He knocked on the door. Or he slammed his fists on it, rather. After a moment or two she appeared, eyes drooping and hair a ratty wreck, but it didn't detract from her loveliness. He cursed her for being so beautiful, even without trying. She yawned and took a step outside. She was wearing his robe.

His jaw unhinged from his face like a freakish snake-person and he was certain it made contact with the ground. He forgot his inner monologue and whispered "Bloody hell."

"Do you have any idea what blighted time it is?" she growled.

He sighed and turned away from her, his jaw clenching up. How dare she take that tone with him?

"Is it true?" he asked, turning back to her.

"What in the Void are you talking about?"

"Cullen. Did you fuck him? If so, did you eat his head and lay your eggs in his neck afterwards? Did his willy get frostbite and fall off from the your harsh, unforgiving climate? Did his skin melt off when he saw your true form? I need to know how big of a fruit basket I should send."

She creased her brow at him, her eyes squinted. "Who told you that?"

"Doesn't matter. Answer the bloody question."

"It's none of your damn business."

"Djjjjj...wha? GRRRR!" He wanted to throttle her. He moved forward to back her into a corner and then threw his hands in the air, exasperatedly. "Oh really? That's interesting, because I seem to remember you walking out my door not three weeks ago because you weren't ready. I deserve an explanation. You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you anything."

"When are you just going to admit that there's something there?"

"I've told you, there isn't!"

"Liar!" he roared.

She scrunched her nose at him. "You stupid, stinking drunk! Go home before we both regret it!"

"You called my name in your sleep! You kissed me back! Enthusiastically, I might add! You're wearing my robe right now! Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me there's nothing between us? That's what you're going with?"

"Drop it, Anders. It didn't mean..."

"Yeah, I get it." he sighed. "It meant nothing. Except it did and you know it."

"I'm done." She looked away and moved toward her door. "Goodnight."

"Coward."

"Excuse me?" she hissed.

"You heard me. You're a coward. I'm scared too. Terrified, actually. I don't have half a notion of what's going on here. I'm completely out of my element when it comes to you. But you don't see me running, do you? I'm standing right here."

"That's the issue." she rolled her eyes. "You won't go away!"

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me, even a little bit."

"This is ridiculous."

"See? You can't."

"Of course, I can."

"Do it and I'll go. I'll never bring it up again."

She took a deep breath, stepping forth to stare fully into his face. Her eyes flashed like little blue flames to draw all the light and color from the rest of the world. She stole the air from his lungs. She was too beautiful and too treacherous and too deadly, Anders could not contend.

"I don't want you, Anders."

His breath caught just a little, just enough to betray his hurt. Just enough to be embarrassing. He nodded slowly and stared at her bare feet. "Alright." he said quietly, his voice cracking in the middle.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

She disappeared behind her door, leaving him alone with her words once again. He sat on her porch for a few hours until the sun began to rise.

Eventually he found the strength to trudge back to the Rose.


	6. Prithee

**Warning: NSFW chapter. Unfortunately, this chapter is also not very funny. Sorry about that. Hopefully the smut will make up for it, and if not, I've already gotten started on chapter 7 and I promise you, there will be a lot more humor in that one. Enjoy!**

_Balls._

Anders was not accustomed to such weighty emotions. He wasn't quite equipped for it. By nature, he was a cheerful and optimistic sort, always seeing the glint of opportunity in each disaster. But ever since he met Hawke each feeling was a new and dreadful thing, and it was all so strong. He couldn't just feel hurt, he had to feel soul-crushing agony and despair, like being pierced by a dozen arrows and left to bleed out at her feet. All manner of embarrassingly hackneyed but startlingly accurate analogies that would make even the worst poet or bard cringe and shake their head at him. Probably riddled with old man words like "verily" and "prithee." It was beyond his experience.

The ceiling was the only thing that could hold his attention that morning. If a dragon walked in, relieved itself on his carpet, apologized and then left, Anders would be disinclined to care or even take notice. Outside his room the patrons were already clamoring with laughter, flirtation and some were even enjoying their purchases already. Seneschal Bran and Serendipity did not waste much time, Anders noticed. It was difficult to ignore the disturbing noises coming from directly below him. They sounded like a rage demon trying to swallow a bronto. Mercifully he could think louder than they could do whatever horrible thing they were doing.

Anders eventually did get a few clients of his own and he worked mechanically through the whole ordeal. It wasn't difficult, thrusting and tugging and punctuating the movements with loud exclamations. He could do it in his sleep. It was good that even in his melancholy and distraction he was still a hundred times better than most of the husbands in Hightown, or so the women professed as he apologized. No one complained.

Work was actually beginning to feel like work for the first time, Anders lamented. It was, to be fair, more pleasant work than manual labor or being yelled at by some little man with a power trip. Better than the poor sods working in the Bone Pits, but he felt no pride in his craft that day. There was no reward in it, no pleasure. She'd stolen that from him too.

And Hawke didn't come to gather him for a job. He couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

He was beginning to think maybe he should ask for the rest of the day off. He could retire with a book or maybe just sleep. Anything to get him out of this mire. He would drink if he thought it would help, but then he'd just end up at her door and that would go badly for both of them. Really, he just wanted to be alone.

And of course that's when someone pushed open the door, flooding his room with unwanted light and sound and before long he was dwarfed by their shadow.

He wanted to turn to whoever it was and tell them to fuck off, but that's what they came to him for. May as well give them their coin's worth.

"Are you alright, Anders?"

Soft, too gentle and kind to be her voice. He shook himself from the daze to get a glimpse of the owner and Bethany smiled back at him, reassuringly.

"Absolutely." he said, then a bit confused by her presence. "Where's your delightful sister? Hiding? Is she going to jump out and scream 'ooga booga'? Because that won't work a third time, Hawke. I'm ready for you."

Bethany stared at her feet. "I...she's not here right now."

"Unless she's gone invisible. Hey, that's a terrifying thought. Anyway, did she need me for a job or something?"

She looked away. "Actually, I'm here to see you myself. Alone."

"Oh?" he said. Then a second or two later the meaning dawned on him. "Oh."

She blushed furiously, Anders could tell even in the dimness of the room. "Is that alright?"

"Of course. You just don't strike me as the type. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Today is my birthday. I thought I'd treat myself. I'm tired of being a virgin."

"But don't you want your first time to be with someone special?"

"You're handsome, and kind and gentle. You'll make it special for me, won't you?"

He smiled softly and crossed the room to her, taking her hand in his. "Sure, if that's what you really want."

She lifted her head and nodded. "I'm certain."

He closed the door behind her. There was a pause as he wondered if maybe it wasn't such a good idea to sleep with Hawke's sister, but he quickly dismissed his concerns. Hawke made it clear that there was nothing between them and besides, Bethany was a client. It wasn't personal. This was a business affair at most.

He covered her mouth with his for what may have been her very first kiss. He guided her back toward the bed. One hand threaded through her hair and the other wound it's way through her trembling fingers. Such a timid creature. He thought, deciding that indeed, he would make it special for her.

She was more receptive than her sister, less reluctant. Her face was moon-shaped where Hawke's was angular and strong. Her eyes soft where Hawke's were severe.

She also wasn't cursing at him or fleeing his presence. That was always a plus.

His tongue mopped against her bottom lip and they parted for him. He delved into her mouth and at once her breathing became shallow and heavy. A hand came to rest upon his bicep and squeezed tentatively, as though it were afraid to touch him anywhere else. That simply wouldn't do.

He sat her down on the edge of the bed and shed his tunic, smirking as she gasped at his physique and allowed her fingers to skate upon the hard planes of chest and abs. Of particular interest to her was the light dusting of gold hairs that disappeared down into the front of his trousers. He allowed her to play for a time while his own fingers worked the laces on her blouse and his lips stamped her neck again and again. Every now and then she would turn to claws as she moaned from his touch, and once or twice she breathed his name.

He let her blouse pool at their feet, massaging her breasts and tweaking her tender nipples. He laid her down on her back and knelt between her legs, bending to kiss her lips again and press his swollen bulge against her inner thigh. Her eyes snapped open and rolled to the back of her head.

"Bethany." he called. He thought she'd like that and evidently she did as she let out a shrill whimper of need. He kissed his way down her throat and shoulders, latched onto her breast with lips and tongue and just the barest hint of teeth. She keened and rocked her hips against him. It was difficult not to chuckle at her enthusiasm.

He hooked his hands under the front of her breeches and pulled them down her thighs until she kicked them off the bed. Her smalls were soaked with her essence. It did not take much convincing to rid her of those. Nor did she complain when he eased a pair of expert fingers past the curtain of glistening lips to stroke her sensitive bud, already fat and pulsing with want. A moment or two of that and she seemed frenzied to find her way into his trousers, and gracelessly tugged at his laces with no luck. He removed his fingers from her perfumed slit and helped her, lest she get her delicate fingers tangled up.

His cock sprang free of it's prison and her eyes fixed onto it, equal parts fear, curiosity and desire if he were a guessing man. She grasped him with a clumsy hand and delighted as he gave her a hum of approval, his fingers returning to their slippery home between her legs. One circled her entrance gently and she gasped out. She was leaking down her thighs and ass, and seemed more than ready for what was to come.

"It looks big. Are you certain that will fit?" she asked, turning a touch crimson.

"Not so big. I've never had an issue before, anyway." he laughed. "Are you ready?" he asked one last time, poising himself for entry. She bit her lip and nodded.

He caressed her cheek and nudged the head of his cock against her barrier. She did not give way at first, but after some kissing and nibbling, she relaxed and the membrane parted to allow him inside.

"That wasn't bad at all." she sighed once he was inside.

He smiled and began building a pace, reaching down to tease at her clit as he pushed deep inside her. A groan escaped and he trapped it with his lips. Her hips met his and she shuddered as he became fully sheathed in her, her fingernails digging into his back.

"You like that?" he grinned.

She nodded emphatically. He picked up a little speed, but not force. He sank into her gently as his fingers guided her toward climax.

_No one is as responsive as a virgin._ He thought.

And then an image of waking up with Hawke in his arms came to mind, unbidden. There was no warning, just a spectre of her warm skin and her plush lips on his, the way she smelled, the lingering memory of the taste of her lips and the sound of her voice calling his name. What he would have done to divest her of her clothes and her steely resolve, to see the cracked skeleton beneath with the purple jagged scar across her side and the fearful eyes. Somehow he knew that the pain would amplify the pleasure, the harsh words would make the soft ones that much sweeter. He would have done more than take her virginity, he would have taken her fears and her anger and given her all of him for as long as she would have allowed.

He lost himself in that idea, in the feeling of her slick core surrounding him, and the imagined eventual collapse of both her inner walls, the physical and the immaterial as he brought her to completion with him inside. Would she quiver and wind her arms around him? Would she scream? Would she press her lips, cold from ragged breath against his? Would she whisper oaths of devotion and passion, his persnickety Hawke?

These were things he wondered many times, but only now did he entertain them fully, and only now with the edge of affection. He did not usually associate such strong feelings with sex. He scoffed at the societal construct that was "lovemaking." Sex was an outlet, a trade, just another function of the body. Any emotions attached were due entirely to chemistry, and nothing more.

But thinking about Hawke this way, it made him wonder if he wasn't wrong. Maybe they both existed, sex and lovemaking, as two different birds altogether. And just as soon as he wondered it, he accepted it as truth. Being with Hawke would be different than being with any other woman. It would be better.

"I'm coming!" Bethany called beneath him. "Anders, don't stop!"

He focused back on the task at hand, alternating between stroking her clit and sliding into her. Her breath was erratic and desperate and her eyes rolled back. This was Anders' favorite part.

She whimpered out and tamped down around his member, her fingers grasping up the sheets and clutching them to her breasts, and then knotting into her hair. She wailed at the top of her lungs his name. That he hadn't expected, but it was a nice touch. She seemed to enjoy herself, at least.

Anders pulled out, giving her a moment to enjoy the afterglow while he cleaned himself off.

"Don't you want to...?" she glanced down at his still hard cock. "I mean, is it your turn?"

He shook his head. "It's better for my stamina if I don't. Anyway, you look happy."

"You were wonderful." she smiled. "I knew this was a good idea."

"No regrets?"

"None." she said. "I should be going, though. Before it gets dark. Mother will worry."

He nodded and donned his trousers again, handing her back her smalls. Once she was fully dressed, he followed her to the door.

"Should I...should I pay you or Lusine?" she asked timidly.

"First one's on the house." he grinned. "Come back anytime." He pushed the door open for her, kissing her on the forehead. A look of abject fear crossed her eyes. "What?"

She pointed ahead of her.

He turned and was promptly decked in the eye. He saw stars and stumbled backwards onto his ass.

"Sis, don't..."

"Not a word, Bethany. Not if you don't want Mother hearing about this. Leave us."

Bethany gave Anders one terrified glance. He waved her off and she eagerly ran away.

"Hawke." He greeted her tersely, rubbing his tender eye. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"

She tensed, like the question was out of line. "Shut your mouth, Anders. I'll be the one asking the questions."

Anders shrugged. "Fire when ready, then." She huffed indignantly, pushing her way past him and slamming the door behind her. Anders lifted himself back onto his feet and turned to her as she slumped against the wall on his bed. She looked like a defeated woman. "Well? Is it time for my vivisection, then? Or do you just want me to show you how boys and girls are different?"

She sighed deeply. "Why?" She sounded - much to his amazement - hurt, betrayed, broken.

"It's my job." he said.

"Right, it's your job to fuck my little sister. Is this your sick idea of revenge? Rutting everyone I know?"

"Why does it bother you so much? I offered myself up on a plate to you and you turned your nose up. You said you didn't want me."

"I don't!" she insisted.

"So what's the problem, then? Your sister came here with her own coin looking for a good time, and I gave it to her. It was a simple transaction. Both parties are content. That's my job. It's nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?! She's my sister!"

"So she's not allowed to make her own decisions?"

"That's not it."

"Just not with me."

"Exactly!"

"You'll excuse me if I don't particularly care about your rules."

"You don't care?!" she laughed bitterly. "You wouldn't, would you? You just stick your cock in anything that moves without regard to anyone's feelings or reputation, or self respect."

"I stick my cock in _people_, because they ask me to, because they want it and they pay good coin for it. No one has ever complained about any of those things, including your sister. And you lost the right to judge me after you had your little affair with Cullen."

Her eyes became sharp and cold. "My affairs are my own!"

"Then you should afford me the same courtesy."

"It's different when it's family!"

"You think I wasn't hurt when I found out that you gave your virginity to a templar? A templar, Hawke! You chose a templar over me! Is there any way for me to perceive that as less than an insult?"

"You keep bringing that up like you know something about it!"

"What is there to know? You slept with him. You shouldn't have."

"Those are some crazy double-standards you have there. You're allowed to sleep with whoever you want, when you want but I have to ask your permission?"

"It should have been me and you know it! You pushed me aside for some fool you barely even know! Some fool who would gladly lock me in the Gallows if I looked at him funny! How was I supposed to feel when I heard that? I thought we had something!"

"You promised you'd stop bringing that up."

"Yeah. And then you punched me in the eye." he reminded her. "I don't feel especially compelled to keep that promise, anymore."

"I don't know who told you that little gem, but I would have a word with your sources, if I were you. Not that it's any of your business but nothing happened between Cullen and I."

He gasped. "What?"

"You heard me."

"So then...?"

She sighed. "What? Do I have to spell it out for you? We never got that far. It just didn't work out."

"Why not?"

"I don't know! I just wasn't ready."

"You couldn't." he said quietly and it was not a question. She said nothing, but it was still an affirmation. "You wanted me, instead."

His heart dropped into his stomach. Of course she would be hurt and upset. Of course she would feel betrayed. He was careless with her feelings. He was selfish. Was it any wonder she wouldn't let him in?

"Hawke, why did you come here today?" He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. How could he live with himself if she came to apologize, if she came to give him a chance and she was met with this?

Her fists clenched at her sides. "Doesn't matter anymore."

That was not what he wanted to hear. A job, perhaps, a game of cards, just to remind him of how much she hated him, anything would have been preferable to the look on her face and her non-answer.

"It matters to me." he offered.

A growl started deep in her chest and she whipped around to glare at him. "No, nothing matters to you! All you care about is yourself and whatever female you're currently occupying!"

"I care about you." he said softly, and he knew it was true as he spoke the words. He could not fully grasp the feelings he sheltered for her. The feelings were unfamiliar, and there were more horrible analogies than actual words for them, but he longed to let them out. "I've never felt this way about anyone before."

She recoiled as if he'd struck her, as though his attempt to be gentle with her was painful. "Don't tell me that."

"It's true." he crossed over to her and caressed her cheek. She jerked away from his touch rather predictably, but knowing it would happen didn't keep it from hurting. He knew there was no way to reel it back in at this point, but he wanted to comfort her, he wanted her to understand the depth of his guilt and his remorse.

"You should have thought about that before bedding Bethany." she hissed.

"I swear, I thought of you the whole time."

As soon as he uttered the words, he wished he could retract them. He winced and backed away from her, anticipating a swift and entirely deserved kick to his nethers that would render every man in a five mile radius sterile. _Well, goodbye testicles. Rest in peace. We've had a good run, haven't we?_

She squinted at him, her mouth agape with disgust and shook her head. "You were thinking of me while fucking my sister?! And that's supposed to make me feel better about it?!"

"Hawke, I want you! I've wanted you from the beginning!"

"But since I wasn't there you substituted with the closest thing available?!"

"That's not what I meant! I just...oh Maker, this is going poorly. Can't we just start over?"

"No."

"Let me make it up to you. Tell me what to do. I want to set this right."

In that moment if she asked him to, he would walk out of the Rose and never step foot back inside. He would abandon his lifestyle and make a home for them in Lowtown with what little coin he had. He would never look at another woman again, if she would just forgive him. Impossible as that was.

"Save it, Anders." she spat. "It's too late. I have nothing left to say to you. We leave for the Deep Roads next week, and you will come with us because we need a Grey Warden and a healer. After that, I never want to see you again."

"Hawke, please..."

"What?"

He stared at her feet, his shoulders rounded and heavy. "I'm sorry."

A second or two later the door slammed behind her and he collapsed onto his bed. It seemed like every encounter he had with her these days left him in a state of shock, but the finality of her words stuck with him. This time he couldn't even argue that it was undeserved. In fact, now that he looked back, they were all deserved. Perhaps she was cold and judgmental and just generally disagreeable, but it seemed like all of it was borne out of completely legitimate fears, and he'd only ever validated them. Worst of all, he hurt her. Perhaps irrevocably.

And Anders - the man who was always ready with a witty comment or an easy smile - wept like a baby.


	7. Chin Up

**Alright. Hopefully this one will tickle you a little. As always, thanks for the support. You make it all worthwhile. :)**

"You look like dogshit, Blondie." Varric said, when he came to retrieve Anders for the Deep Roads expedition. Anders wasn't shocked to learn that Hawke did not accompany him, but he was disappointed. Anyway, he would have plenty of time to pathetically beg for her attention in the weeks to follow. If his most recent attempts were any indicator of his future success, he would probably leave the Deep Roads with less limbs than he started with.

The same night she left, he showed up at her door with flowers and she responded by blacking his other eye.

The day after that he brought her a dozen chocolate cupcakes and she proceeded to pelt him mercilessly with _a dozen chocolate cupcake_s.

On Wednesday he walked her home from Diamondback, while she windmilled her axe around saying "if you get chopped, it's your own fault!"

On Thursday he left a handwritten letter on her doorstep and watched from a distance as she lit it on fire. _Why did she have to laugh maniacally the entire time? That made it so much worse._

On Friday he woke up and opened his door to go see her and she was waiting for him outside his room...to kick him in the groin.

On Saturday he found a poisonous scorpion in his lunch, and he had a sneaking suspicion that she was the culprit. He didn't go see her on Saturday, fearing for his own life. But he was there in spirit!

"Really? I feel worse than that."

"Can you shave, at least? My chest hair is getting mighty jealous."

Anders sighed and nodded, letting the dwarf follow him back into his suite.

"Hawke still giving you the cold shoulder?" Varric asked while he lathered his chin. It was no secret that he and Hawke weren't getting along. The dwarven bard was likely just trying to give him an excuse to vent. Varric would never say so, but he often played the role of psychologist among the group, being the one person everyone got along with.

"And the cold foot, the cold knee, the cold elbow, the cold fist, both of them and often; that's her favorite thing to give me it seems. She'd give me the cold edge of her axe if she could catch me. All-in-all I'd say it's been a very chilly week, Varric."

"Ouch. And you still want to brave the bowels of Thedas for her? You never struck me as a hopeless romantic."

"I never was." he shrugged, nicking himself in the process. He hissed and compressed his wound with a cloth.

"And you chose an archdemon like Hawke to start?"

He dropped his razor and glared at Varric. "Don't talk about her that way. She is who she is for a reason."

"I don't know, Blondie. Some people are just mean." he sighed. "You love her, don't you? Poor sod."

Anders didn't answer, but he decided that he did. He found himself relieved to discover that what he felt was nothing out of the ordinary. There was even a word for it. _Love._ That sounded right. He loved Hawke, vicious beast she was. He didn't even care that she was - by his educated guess - at least half reptile, or that she was just as likely to kill him and wear his skin as kiss him, or that she gained some kind of hysterical glee in causing him pain. He loved her to the bones and there was nothing he wouldn't do to gain her favor, whatever bodily harm was involved. He smiled for the first time in a week.

"Adorable." Varric muttered. "I'm sorry, but even I can't write a story to make what you two do seem normal and romantic."

"No arguments there. How do I look?" he asked. turning his face from side to side.

"Like slightly less hairy dogshit." Varric smirked.

"I'll take it."

* * *

He smiled at Hawke as he approached and she stared through him. Anders was undaunted by her apathy, however. He found a new reason to be optimistic.

"I love you." he said, moving forward to embrace her. Her fingers wrapped around his throat and applied steady pressure, lifting him gradually into the air. "You're hurting me, love." he choked.

"Try that again and it will be your balls next time." she said as she tossed him to the ground. Anders rubbed his throat, sucking up all the air around him in case she tried again.

"Did you hear me? I said I love you, Hawke." he grinned, pleased to have the news out in the open, pleased to see her frowning face again. Her frigid, sour, beautiful face.

"Wonderful. I feel all warm inside. You can die in peace now. Quickly, if you please."

"Aw, come on, Hawke. Look at how sorry he is." Varric said. Anders pouted and softened his brow for effect. "Isn't he pathetic? I almost want to spoon him myself."

"Have at it, then. He's all yours."

"Don't you think he's suffered enough?"

"Not by half, Varric. Not ever."

Varric turned to Anders and shrugged softly. "I tried my best."

"Hawke, can't we just talk about this?" Anders pleaded. "I'll do anything."

"That's the problem, isn't it? You'll do anything, without concern for anyone else. This discussion is over. Let's find Bartrand and get this over with. I'm sick of you already."

Anders frowned, dusting the grit and dirt off himself. _That didn't go quite as I planned._ He sighed, watching her stalk off toward her sister.

It wasn't like he expected her to accept him with open arms, but he did hope her anger might eventually wane, yet here was every indication that it was only growing with each time he stood in her presence. His profession of love did not help in the least, in fact it only seemed to further annoy her. Forgiveness seemed a tall order to begin with, getting taller by the minute.

Eventually he, Hawke, Bethany and Varric made their way deep into the smelly, distended anus of the world. He mourned the last fingers of daylight and sunshine as they were sucked behind the veil of earth, but welcomed the sight of Hawke's swaying hips in front of him.

_Chin up. Always look ahead and to the future._ He thought, hoping that indeed, there would be some sort of future with those hips involved.

* * *

Darkspawn. He could have lived the rest of his life without seeing another and it would have been too soon. And here he was, surrounded by them. On their territory. If that wasn't love, Anders didn't know what was.

He thought he should get some credit for it, enough that Hawke wouldn't just stand there while the giant spider and all of its putrid children attacked him. Enough that she wouldn't root up her bedroll and move to the other side of the camp when he tried to place his beside her, drawing a line across camp and threatening to remove his "dangly-bits" if he crossed it. Enough that she wouldn't set up bear traps around her so that he couldn't get to her in the middle of the night. That would have been nice.

He watched her from across the camp, and noted that she seemed no more restful than he. When she did manage to nod off, she jolted forward a minute or two later, wild-eyed and bathed in her own sweat. Anders watched this happen three times more before it became too much to bear.

He tiptoed to her side, carefully avoiding the bear traps which were - now that he could see them closely - clearly poisoned. He sighed and shook his head.

He knelt silently before her, so as not to alert her of his presence which would certainly result in his tragic and gruesome end. A rogue Anders was not, but he was sure and light-footed when he wanted to be. Then he swept his hands above the length of her body once, then twice, allowing his magic to crest over her and usher her into deep slumber. She would wake none the wiser, feeling rested and energetic.

But Anders never did know how to let well alone. There was the woman he loved, soft and vulnerable and heavy like he'd only seen her once before. He wanted so many things and each of those things was another thing he wasn't allowed. But above all else, Anders was a man, and men don't ever take anything from women who are compromised and unwilling. He afforded himself only a lingering gaze and once, just once, to brush that blighted lock of hair off of her face and behind her ear. He smiled as he saw for the first time her face completely unobstructed and the worry-lines in her brow and the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, flaws that made her even more beautiful to him. He would have liked nothing better than to crawl in beside her for the night, even just to watch her while she slept.

As he got back on his feet and began making his way to his side of the camp - the side that wouldn't result in his artistic and terrifyingly cheerful dismemberment - he heard her breathe out "Anders" in her sleep.


	8. In Deep

Anders could think of things worse than the Deep Roads, certainly. Drinking from the Joining chalice, having your kitten taken away by the damned Wardens, being kicked in the taint by the woman you loved; these were all things he could confidently say were worse than the Deep Roads. One just needed to ask on a day where he wasn't being chased by deepstalkers and genlocks and tainted dragons while Hawke sat by and laughed.

And now they were trapped there. _The Maker has a cruel sense of humor._

Varric paced the room, tearing at his hair while Hawke fixed her glare upon him. If there was a way for her to scowl at both Anders and Varric, she would find it.

"I can't believe Bartrand would do this!" Varric exclaimed for the twentieth time, and not the last, Anders sensed.

"Really? Because I saw it coming a mile away." Hawke said. "I told you he wasn't trustworthy. No one ever listens."

"He's my brother, Hawke! He may be a selfish, greedy bastard, but I never thought he'd do something like this."

"Family has a way of surprising you, don't they? One minute you're pillow-fighting and braiding each other's hair, the next, they're twisting the knife in your back." she smiled bitterly. She didn't look at Bethany. She didn't have to.

"Subtle as a punch in the gut." Varric mumbled under his breath.

Bethany shot Anders a mournful glance from across the room. He took this as a cue to come to Hawke's side.

"Just wanted to remind you that I love you." he smiled. "You don't have to say it back. I just wanted you to know."

"Choke on a dick and die."

_I think she's warming up to me!_

"Maybe there's another way out." Bethany offered. Hawke shot her a baleful glance, fierce enough to frighten an archdemon. "Just a thought."

After a moment or two of clenching and unclenching every muscle in her body and probably grinding her teeth down to a fine powder, Hawke nodded and searched the room for an exit.

There was one, but it of course led into a rock-wraith infested crypt. With a hunger demon leading them. Classic. And then there was an even bigger, more obnoxious rock-wraith waiting around the corner for them. Anders was beginning to think that he was one broodmother away from winning Grey Warden bingo night, or at the very least that he stepped into a very convincing Deep Roads themed costume party. _An all-star cast. Only I could be so lucky to meet all my old buddies in one place._

He ducked behind one of the pillars and gulped down a lyrium potion. "Stompypants" as Anders dubbed their noisy new friend, was content to shock the entire ceiling into rubble and Hawke seemed determined to leave the thaig in paste form. Between narrowly avoiding being fried by chain lightning and keeping her alive, Anders was exhausted. He couldn't help but feel his age. Also, he was fairly sure if he grabbed Hawke by the wrists and pulled her out of certain, instant death one more time he would catch his own as a result.

"You alright, Blondie?" Varric asked, leaning on the pillar to take a few gasping breaths. Anders nodded tossing him a stamina drought, the dwarf sucked it back eagerly. It was a brief but welcome respite from the assault.

Varric leaned around the corner to pick off a few Profane with Bianca. Anders followed suit with some well-placed fireballs.

"She worth it yet?"

"Now's not a good time to ask, Varric."

"Shut your face. Both of you!" Hawke snapped, right before she ran at Stompypants, axe raised. The rock-wraith swatted her away like an insect and began moving forward, likely to roll her into a grumpy piece of parchment.

Anders crossed over to her and created a magical shield to protect them both until she regained her footing.

"What are you doing?!" she shouted.

"Nevermind that, just get up! A little help would be very well-received right about now!" he said through his teeth as Stompy bore down hard on the forcefield. Hawke pulled herself to her feet much too slowly. He felt his grip on the Fade falter for just a second and...

_Crack!_

That was the sound of Anders being flattened and smeared across the floor, or at least that's how it felt to him.

"Man down!"

"Anders!" Hawke shouted.

"Get him out of there, I've got your back!" Varric called, followed by the mechanical grind and release of Bianca's pistons, or whatever it is that thing used.

Anders felt himself being dragged across the cold ground, out of the way of danger.

"Anders..." Hawke sighed, finally coming into view. Her eyes softened with concern.

"Don't worry...about me... Kill...that bloody...thing... Sex...later..." he attempted a grin but erupted into a cough which tasted of copper. _Never a good sign._ From the locus of the pain and the sharp popping sound with each breath he took, he figured that he probably punctured a lung.

"Stay alive." she said, pausing for just a second before disappearing from view.

The sounds of battle wore on for several more minutes, but he could see nothing beyond the pillar Hawke hid him behind. He tried to use what little magic he still possessed to heal himself, but it only served to drain some of the blood from his lungs and stem the flow of internal bleeding. Not enough to reform the bone, not enough to knit the flesh back together.

Finally there was a crash and the ground shook from what he hoped was Stompypants disassembling himself into rubble, and then slippered footsteps coming toward him.

"I'm here, Anders. I'm not as good a healer as you, but I'll do what I can." Bethany said.

A soft, green light enveloped him and he winced as his ribs snapped back into shape. Gradually the pain subsided. He was able to pull himself into a sitting position against the pillar to drink down an elfroot potion. And then Hawke came around the corner and smacked him upside the jaw with the back of her hand, knocking the elixir from his grasp and sending him sprawling across the ground.

"Ow!" he rubbed the side of his face gingerly. "Will you stop doing that?!"

"Just as soon as you stop trying to get yourself killed."

"Sure. Next time I'll let the giant boulder-man squash you like a fly. It's a good look for you, flat." he laughed. "Besides, what do you care?"

Her eyes flickered darkly for a second and she looked away. "Let's just move on."

* * *

He peeked across the camp at Hawke, who was sharpening her axe from her bedroll, oblivious of his attention. Soon she would retire and he would creep to her bedside to put her to sleep as he did every night since they came to the blighted Deep Roads. Whether or not she was aware of this little service of his was anyone's guess. She said nothing, at any rate.

She made no indication that her decision to end contact with him after the expedition had changed in any way. With as much gold and gem as she could carry in her pack, Hawke could certainly hire a healer to follow her around if she wanted. One that wouldn't annoy her so much, maybe. Time was running out for him to prove himself. They had, at most, another day or so before they would reach the surface.

He plodded over to her and smiled, just out of range of her axe and the bear traps.

"What?"

"Just wanted to remind you that I love you. And to tell you I'm glad you're still alive, despite all your effort to the contrary."

She sighed, but completely ignored him otherwise.

"Oh, Anders!" he said, raising his voice an octave. "I, Hawke, am so very glad you're still alive, too." and then, feeling bold. "The threat of my mortality has made me realize just how much I love you. Let's make passionate love here on the cold, hard ground! I simply can't hold off until we return to Kirkwall! I tremble in anticipation of your touch! Take me now!"

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Stop."

A bad reaction was still a reaction in Anders' mind. He swore he would get a smile out of her, yet. "But we're not alone, Hawke! What would the others think if they saw us?"

"I said stop."

"I don't care, Anders! I, Hawke, simply must have you! Heal my body with your big, sexy staff, you sexy healer, you!" he said and began furiously kissing and moaning into his hand.

"What a perfect analogy. Your hand is the closest you'll ever get."

"Ohhh, Anders! I, Hawke, am in love with you! I'm so sorry for throwing your delicious cupcakes at you and letting the spiders beat you up! I, Hawke, promise never to hit you in the bollocks again!"

A ghost of a smile crept across her features before she chased it away with a scowl and threw her whetstone at his head, none too gently.

"Cut it out! Just the idea is making me ill."

He nodded disappointedly and returned to his side of camp, his head a little sorer than it was a moment earlier.

He waited for her to lay down to sleep so he could sedate her with his magic. And though she didn't call out his name in her sleep this time, she did smile and nuzzle into his palm when he brushed the hair off her face and caressed her cheek, and that was enough to give him hope.

* * *

The next day Bethany became tainted and was taken by the Grey Wardens. Anders tried to reassure Hawke that she would be alright, that Bethany was strong enough to withstand her Joining, but she shrugged him off.

"Let's just go home." she said, sighing loudly.

He thought how exhausting it must be to maintain her facade of toughness, to constantly have to wear this placid mask of hers. He wished he could tell her it was alright to let her guard down, that she didn't have to be brave in front of him, but he knew better.

And go home, they did.

* * *

Kirkwall was both a welcome and dreaded sight. Never before had Anders felt so conflicted about sunshine and fresh air and birdsong.

He felt like a beaten man when he saw her feet turn in the opposite direction of Hightown, without a word of thanks or even a goodbye, but he supposed that was her right. He had his share of the coin, and small though it may be, it was more than what he expected. Perhaps gratitude might be in order if Bethany's life was guaranteed, but it wasn't. It would take some time before they discovered her fate, and by then it would be besides the point.

"Hawke?"

She turned bonelessly toward him, her eyes more tired than he could ever remember. Varric walked ahead to give them some space.

"Can I walk you home?"

She took a look around her as if to say "It's not exactly necessary." It was daytime, they'd taken care of the Sharps weeks earlier and there was no need for an escort, but she said nothing, just turned back around and tramped toward her home. He followed at her side.

Varric nodded at them both as they passed the Hanged Man, leaving them alone, at last. Anders was grateful.

The rest of the walk was made in silence, giving him time to wonder how he was supposed to move on from her. Was he meant to just go back to the Rose and pretend she never happened to him? Was that even possible? He suspected not.

She paused and stared despondently at her feet as she stood before the door to her uncle's hovel. Anders placed his hand on her shoulder and for once she made no motion to jerk away from him or cause him grievous bodily injury, as he predicted.

"What do you want, Anders?" she asked quietly.

"I just wanted to remind you that I love you." he said, feeling tears well and crash against the back of his eyes. "And you know what I want."

"It's too late for that."

"So this is it, then? Goodbye forever? It doesn't have to be."

Her shoulders rounded as she sighed. She pushed her key into the lock and softly, quietly she said "Goodbye."


	9. Sealed With a Kick

23rd of Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon

Hawke,

It has been weeks since I've seen you. What I wouldn't do for you to scowl at me right about now. Many, many graphic things I dare not describe in this letter, for starters. I hope you are well.

I have been working hard, taking extra clients at the Rose to keep me off your doorstep. I'm sure that will not be pleasing for you to hear, but it's what I must do. We can't all stumble on a fortune in the Deep Roads, not so successfully, anyway.

Work is a tiresome endeavor, but somehow I manage to grind away the hours, push through each client, plug along - you get the idea. There is no shortage of double entendres to describe the arduous task when by all rights it should be you in my bed. Lusine insists the Rose does not close for broken hearts. She thinks it might help me get over you. I don't want to get over you, but I also don't want to starve or live in a crate. Rats make terrible roommates.

Lately I have been pretending that the clients are you and that has helped some, or so the compliments have led me to believe. It is a little more difficult with the men. Then I have to actually imagine a plot, and it usually involves some sort of dark magic ritual, and then my own knowledge of the arcane gets in the way. I prefer you as a woman, I must say. But the fantasy is inevitably destroyed as soon as they walk out the room, no matter what the gender. There's no one to keep poor Anders warm through the night. No one to snuggle. I would hold you if I could, Hawke. Even if you were suddenly and inexplicably a man.

And I'm quite aware that I do not sound like a mentally-well individual right now, but I never have been. Perhaps even less so since you walked into my life. Certainly since you walked out.

The flowers I left at your door have withered, the last letter I sent is unopened, warped and brown from the rain. Some of the ink has bled through the paper. There are a few tears at the corner that make me think a rat's been eating it. That's Lowtown for you, I suppose. I'll be sure not to daub this one with my scented oils. Anyway, you haven't touched them. Somehow it would hurt less if you lit them on fire or stomped on them or threw them in the trash.

The days are growing shorter. Soon Satinalia will be upon us. Perhaps I will be named viscount this year because I feel like the biggest fool in Thedas. You can wear your mask of bitterness and apathy and I won't even complain, just as long as you are there and I'm allowed to see you.

Today I saw Fenris out of his mansion in the Hightown Market with a basket of apples. The elf never looked so out of place, and that's saying something. He frowned when he saw me, big surprise. He said he hadn't heard from you in over a month. Are you done taking jobs since you made your fortune? That doesn't sound right. You're like me. A part of you enjoys the chaos. Although, I suppose everyone's entitled to a break now and again.

I know you must miss your sister, but I'm positive she'll be alright. The Wardens will not grant her an easy life, but someone like her will do well in their ranks. She has the discipline I never had, and their cause is just. I can tell you about it sometime if it will make you feel better, but I'm sure she'll tell you herself once she's able.

I wish you were here. It is hard to complain of loneliness when you are surrounded by people all eager to see you, but I am. Everything is just so empty without you. I love you. You've heard it before, but each day it means something different. Each day it's something bigger and deeper and scarier. It's confusing, Hawke, but I welcome it. I can only hope you'll find it in you to give it a chance, someday. Love. Us. Maybe that's silly of me, but that's who I am.

Yours,

Anders

* * *

8th of Firstfall, 9:31 Dragon

Hawke,

Today Isabela came to visit. Not for me, obviously, something about an elf and whipped cream. Anyway, I practically rushed her when I saw her from the stairs. I asked her how you were, if you missed me, if you talked about me at all. She said she hadn't seen you, that no one's seen you since the Deep Roads expedition.

I asked her if I should go and visit you, to see if you were alright although I wouldn't really need an excuse if I thought you'd let me in. She said she tried the other day and Leandra told her you weren't accepting visitors or jobs right now. She said you were grieving your sister.

I was at first relieved to hear you weren't just avoiding me, but then I felt ashamed. Here I am, only concerned for my own sadness when you've been mired down by your grief. How awful.

I can only assume you read the last letter as it was missing the next day, but in case you didn't, let me say it again; Bethany will be fine. It's not your fault. You have to understand that. You did the best you could, love. The Wardens aren't so bad as long as you do as you're told. Not great for someone like me, but your sister seems perfectly capable of following orders. She must be if she lived with you that long (ah, one benefit of written correspondence. I didn't just get hit). Trust me, Hawke. Everything's going to be alright.

You have no idea how difficult it is for me to keep myself away. The thought of you all alone in your despair...it's devastating. I'd be at your door right now if I thought you wanted me there, if I thought it would help. My love for you has not faded at all in your absence. In fact, I love you more and more each day.

Just get better, Hawke. Don't put on a front, don't shove it down inside. Feel free to cry or scream or break things if you have to. But when you're done, move on. If not for me, then for yourself and for your mother. I will always be here if you need me, for whatever reason.

I am not a religious man, but even so I pray to the Maker you will hear from Bethany soon, if only to assuage your fears.

Love,

Anders

* * *

15th of Firstfall, 9:31 Dragon

Hawke,

I saw you yesterday, by the Keep. You did not see me, or else you ignored me. It took all my strength not to run to you, to lift you into my arms and twirl you around and cover your face in kisses. You looked a little thin, but not unhealthy or broken. I hope this means you heard from your sister at last.

But after the initial swell of imagined violins and the frantic beating of my heart, I realized what this meant. You've moved on, but you haven't come to see me. You mean to exact your threat, don't you? You're done with me for good.

Look, I know I wasn't exactly a good whatever it is I was to you. I'm far aware, and my hindsight is perfectly clear. I'm new to all of this courtship business. As much as I wouldn't trade what we sort-of-almost-not-quite had for anything, life was a lot simpler before you came around. That's not an excuse, but it is the reality of things, and I beg you to give me another chance. I can't promise to be any good at this, but I'll love you, I'll cherish you. That's for damn certain. Shouldn't that be enough? Isn't that what you had in mind before I screwed everything up so badly?

Hawke, I don't know how much more of this I can take. Each time I write to you, I scrape a wound that I know will never quite heal. Each time I hear your name I die a little and I'm hearing it more and more. I'd do anything for you. I guess that means saying goodbye, but not yet.

I continue to wait. For now.

Forever yours,

Anders

* * *

2nd of Wintermarch, 9:32 Dragon

Hawke,

This is the last letter I will burden you with.

I saw you again today. I saw the man you were with. Lithe body, robes, slippers, a staff on his back. You've replaced me. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You need a healer and you don't want me. It was only a matter of time, wasn't it?

You smiled at him. I thought you only smiled for me.

He's handsome, clean-cut, conservative. Gentle eyes and a submissive demeanor. In other words, he's the opposite of me. I'm sure that was no mistake.

I kept telling myself that you'd change your mind, but all this time it was a fool's wish. You got what you came for and now you have no need of me. Way to make a whore feel used.

No, it's not your fault. I did this to myself. To us.

I suppose I should be happy for you. You're probably better off without me and my antics. We're probably better off without each other. It could only end in more heartache. I guess I should see this as closure. It still hurts, but as a healer I know better than anyone that there are some things only time can heal. And that's what I'm going to do now, Hawke. I'm going to let myself heal.

I just wanted to wish you luck. Perhaps I am a little bitter, but it is only at myself. You deserve better than me, and the sort of life a person like me can afford you. I hope you find it and I hope you're happy, despite everything. If you ever need anything...you know.

Love always,

Anders

* * *

Anders set down his quill. He folded up the letter and shoved it deep down in his pocket. It was dark now, too dark to venture into Lowtown to place it on her doorstep. What did it matter anyway? She probably didn't even read them. He was probably just embarrassing himself.

He shucked his tunic and spread out on his bed to stare at the ceiling. He never did that before Hawke, but now it seemed to be one of his favorite pass-times. There wasn't anything particularly interesting about it. It was white, as ceilings should be. There was a huge brown spider in the corner which terrified him each and every time he saw it, but he was too lazy to take a broom and get it. Most of the time he liked to pretend it wasn't there. He slept better that way.

_Stupid poncy apostate with his stupid beard and his stupid sensitive eyes._ He sighed, remembering his brief glimpse of his replacement. There was no doubt in his mind that if the man was friendly and not a whore, he'd replace Anders in other ways too. He was too handsome not to.

Then the unwelcome thought of Hawke making love to this other mage came.

He would climb on top of her, kiss her full lips and sigh. He would caress her breasts, tease at the peaks with his lips and teeth until she called out...

"Ohh, NotAnders!"

_Alright, that was pretty ridiculous._ He thought. _I'm officially pathetic._

He pulled the covers up to his neck and tried to sleep. For one brief second he wondered where she was and hoped she was happy without him, right before he drifted off. With any luck, he would not dream.

He just closed his eyes when he was startled awake by a sound.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_


	10. Squish!

He rolled his eyes and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. Outside his blankets the air was freezing. He hissed as his feet touched the icy floorboards. For the hundredth time since winter began he reminded himself to get a rug, perhaps this time he'd actually remember.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his loose hair, then lifted his arms to take a sniff. He needed a bath, and probably a shave. He ran his palm along his chin. _Yes, definitely a shave._

The knocks came again, louder than before. "Alright, alright! Keep your smalls on for a minute!" He wondered who would be bothering him at such an hour. Certainly not a client.

He stumbled across the room to the door and pulled it open to the blinding light of the brothel. He blinked to allow his eyes to adjust.

"Isabela, what are you doing here so late?"

"Hawke's hurt! She needs your help!" she said, grabbing him by the wrist.

He stiffened and pulled away. "Where's her new healer?"

"Dead. We don't have time for this, she was already at the Black City gates when I left."

He rolled his eyes and took his staff. Even if he wanted to stand on principle, he knew he'd never forgive himself if something happened to her. He pulled his boots on and nodded for her to lead the way.

Isabela raced down the stairs and out the door. Anders struggled to keep up with her as she turned into Lowtown, toward the docks. She stopped every so often and tapped her foot at him. "I'm going as fast as I can. I'm not a rogue, you know."

"Just hurry!" she said.

Eventually they found themselves near some sort of warehouse and he spotted some of their companions pacing in front of her prone form.

She was prostrate on the filthy ground, the empty carcasses of half dozen elfroot potions strewn about beside her. Pale as a ghost, he could almost make out the rise and fall of her chest. Isabela was not exaggerating. Fenris and Varric made way for Anders as soon as they saw him.

"Good to see you, Blondie."

He nodded absently, descending to Hawke's side. From the looks of it, she'd gotten a good bludgeoning to the side of her head. She was awake, but disoriented.

He touched his fingers to the bruised and bloody skin of her face. Her jaw was broken and her skull fractured. Any higher and she would have died on impact. He hoped it was in his capacity to heal her.

"What happened here?" he asked, pouring his magic over her head-wound.

"Some templars took Chance. Hawke killed one of theirs so they tried to kill him. He turned into an abomination and attacked her. We did not think it wise to move her." Fenris said.

"Chance." he laughed bitterly. _What a stupid name. Blighted Free Marchers with their stupid names and their powder keg mages._ He wished - not for the first time - that he knew what it was about Kirkwall that made every mage one dirty look away from slashing their wrists and going crazy. It was never so dramatic in Ferelden. Not that he remembered, anyway.

"Is Anders here?" Hawke asked in a groggy voice.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but yes." he sighed. "I'll try not to be a bother, while I'm saving your life and all."

"Anders." she smiled. "I like him."

"Well, bugger me sideways!" he laughed. "And all it took was a traumatic brain injury. Fancy that." She yawned and closed her eyes. "No, no. You have a concussion. You need to stay awake for a bit."

"But I'm tired." she whined. "I want Anders. Is he coming?"

Anders screwed up his face in confusion. Isabela shrugged. "Tell me about this Anders. He's a looker, yeah?" she asked.

She grinned widely. "Anders."

"What about him?"

"He's bloody...a good bloody kisser." she said followed by something that if Anders didn't know Hawke, he might think it was a giggle.

"Oh yeah? Tell me more." Anders pressed, chuckling. Isabela gave him a thumbs up, Varric shook his head and Fenris stalked off into a dark corner.

"Mmm, he's got a nice bottom area." she burst out laughing until she snorted. "I want to slap it."

He snickered. "Interesting. What else?"

"He's a bloody good kisser."

"You said that already. What's the best thing about Anders?"

"He's gentle." she sighed happily. "I like it when he magics me. He thinks I don't...He thinks I doesn't...He doesn't think I know. But I do. Know, I mean."

"Know what?"

"That he puts me to sleep at night, but I know. I know how he comes over to my bedroll to help me sleep with his magic. He doesn't have to do it, but he does."

His smile faltered and he paused his healing to furrow his brow, but then he continued working. The others unanimously decided to give them some space at this point. "He sounds like a nice sort, this Anders." he said, sadly. "What would you say to him if he were here right now?"

Her smile waned and her face grew tearful and pained. "I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry! But I'm afraid! He's been with so many women, and what if I'm not good enough? And he's going to...to compare me to all the other women he's been with and decide I'm not worth it. And I'm not." Tears sprang from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks in thick rivulets. "He's so nice and sweet. I don't deserve someone like that. I'm a nasty girl. I'll never have friends or love or be happy." She sobbed uncontrollably, her whole body quaking.

He lifted her into his arms and held her against his chest, stroking her hair. "Hush."

"It's true. Besides, Bethany loves him. She's the nice one. She should have him."

"Doesn't he get a say in all this?"

"He said he loves me but he probably says that to everyone."

"I'm sure he doesn't." he whispered in her ear, raking back her blood soaked hair with his fingers. "I'm sure he wouldn't say that to just anyone."

"He would if they paid him to." she hiccupped, spraying spittle across his tunic. She was not a pretty crier. Her whole face was beet red and her eyes were squeezed shut, a string of slaver dripped from her howling lips into his lap.

"Not even if they paid him all the money in Kirkwall. Maybe he's never said that to anyone before you. Did you think of that?" he asked. Now he was on the verge of tears, himself. He rocked her gently.

"He'll never forgive me."

"I think he already has, love." They stayed like that for several more minutes, but when it seemed like she was nowhere near ready to stop crying, he lifted them both to their feet. She stumbled a little onto his shoulder.

"I think I..." she started, staring up into his eyes.

He stilled, not wanting to interrupt any confessions in progress. When she didn't continue he let out a soft "Hm?"

"I think I might hurl." she answered and promptly vomited on his boots. He groaned and took a step out of the puddle.

_Love is disgusting affair._ He thought.

After she was done with that, she started crying again, this time louder than before and he was sure _she_ didn't even know why. "Alright, alright." he sing-songed as she wailed into his shoulder. "Shhh. Quiet now. Fenris?"

The elf appeared from nowhere and startled him into a gasp. He had a tendency to do that sort of thing. "Ah! I told you not to do that!" he yelled. Fenris smirked, pleased as can be to have gotten a rise out of the mage. "Smug bastard. Help me carry her, will you?" He nodded and helped Anders drag her back to the Hanged Man. She cried almost the entire way, and sounded like a dying cat. It was miserable for everyone involved.

They deposited her on the bed and the others left Anders to care for her. Isabela gave him an old, ugly, yellow tunic. Yellow being a kind description. It was the same color as Hawke's vomit, with green and red stripes staggered unevenly across it. If that wasn't shameful enough, the shoulders and the bottom hem were in long, obnoxious strips. Perhaps it was meant to be a fringe, or perhaps the original owner was trying to destroy the evidence of the ghastly thing but decided it wasn't even worth that much effort. Anders held it up in front of him, disgusted.

"Isabela, for shame!" he chided.

"It's not mine, I swear!"

"Whose is it, then? Or better yet, _what_ is it?"

"It's a trophy of sorts."

"I thought you had better taste in sex partners. Eww, _we've_ done it! Which means by extension _I_..." he looked away from the shirt with dismay. "I feel like I need a bath."

"Anyway!" she glared "It should serve for the time being."

"I can't make her wear this. Hasn't she been through enough?"

"Goodnight Anders!" she huffed and stalked out.

He turned back to Hawke and frowned, looking down at the loosely-termed garment. "I'm so very sorry for doing this to you, love. I'll completely understand if you hate me again tomorrow."

He helped Hawke out of her plate, and climbed into the bed, looking the other way as she peeled off her leather and handed her the thing. She refused to touch it. He could not blame her.

He shrugged out of his tunic and passed it to her, still trying his best to respect her propriety, since he knew she valued it. Not that he would ogle anyway. He certainly paid no notice to the bounty of thigh and calves that seemed to stretch out for miles beneath her. Nor did he allow his eyes to wander down to the little cherry-colored mole on the inside of her right knee that was just begging to be nibbled on. Definitely not. He was a gentleman, after all.

As soon as she was dressed she crawled under the covers next to him and pulled his arms around her as if it were the only natural thing to do. She did seem rather more coordinated and coherent, if not quieter than usual, but the fact that she allowed him to touch her made him question her lucidity. She nodded off almost immediately, nuzzling into his bare chest and tossing a lazy arm over him.

He sighed. This is what he wanted, wasn't it? So why did he feel so conflicted? It wasn't just her and the rapturous warmth of her body against his that would be little more than a sick jest if he never felt it after tonight. It wasn't just the things she said which seemed to ring with a hint of brutal and unfettered truth that might actually be brutal and unfettered delirium. It wasn't even the fact that she was a sick, sleeping woman who might otherwise object to even the most perfunctory of physical contact with him, let alone the idea of him holding her and doing mental somersaults over her broken brain affection. Those ideas were all there, and they were given their due terror and angst, but they were not his real concern.

No what he truly feared was that it was all true, that deep inside Hawke wanted him and was sorry for everything, that it really was just fear and self-consciousness and loyalty to her sister that kept her at arms length and even so it would make no difference. What if it didn't matter how they felt? What if there was nothing he could say or do to get her in his arms after tonight? What if she _loved_ him, but still couldn't be with him? That would be worse. So much worse.

Eventually he fell asleep with her tucked under his chin. A few times, she jolted awake and frightened him, and then she would latch onto him fiercely, fingers digging into the meat of his biceps.

He thought originally that it was just the Deep Roads that disrupted her sleep, but perhaps this was a normal thing for her? Or perhaps her concussion was making it difficult? He thought it unwise to use magic to sedate her, given her condition. Instead he pulled her tight against him and whispered promises into her ear. He used words he never said aloud before with any degree of seriousness. Forever, unconditional, patient, that last one was the hardest. She hummed softly, smiled. She did not wake again that night.

* * *

He woke before her while it was still dark out and had a bit of an episode. The idea that she might walk out of his life again was overwhelming and he knew one more blow to his already fragile ego might do him in for good.

He wanted confirmation that it wasn't all just a product of her addled state. He wanted her to wake up and tell him she felt the same way. But above all else, he just didn't want to hurt anymore. He'd been a martyr for long enough.

The soft whimpering sound she made when he slipped out of her arms was physically painful for him. Her eyebrows flew up into her hairline, behind that loathsome lock of hair. He brushed it off her face and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss on her forehead.

There was a quill and inkwell on the desk by the bed. Maker knows why. The patrons of the Hanged Man were either illiterate or too drunk to read or write, more often than not. He pulled the final letter from his breeches and tore it in half. Picking up the quill, he began writing a new, revised letter on the clean half.

_3rd of Wintermarch, 9:32 Dragon_

_Hawke,_

_There are four things you should know._

_1. I forgive you, implicitly. I always have._

_2. I am not, nor have I ever been romantically interested in your sister. I'm flattered that she feels that way and she's very nice, but she's not the one who steals my breath and makes my heart flip-flop. It's always been you. It's only ever been you._

_3. I don't believe you're as mean as you try to be, even if you believe it yourself. I think you're beautiful and funny and wonderful and sexy and confusing as all get out. I've never wanted someone so badly in my entire life. And, as we both know, I am no Chantry brother. We are just as bad as one another, you and I._

_4. Don't EVER think I'd compare you to the lonely spinsters at the Rose. Yes, I've been with other women, but making love to you will be something completely different. I've never done that before. It'll be a first time for both of us, and it will be amazing, because it's you and it's me and we belong together. You know it's true. _

_If you meant what you said (I'm sure any of your friends will be more than happy to tell you if you somehow manage to forget), if you love me, come find me where the sun doesn't shine. It's only appropriate since you ARE the light in my life._

_Eternally and completely devoted,_

_Your Anders_

_P.S. For the record, you are free to slap my "bottom area" whenever you like. You don't even need to ask._

He glanced back at her, knowing full well that it might be the last time he would. She gathered the extra pillow in her arms and coiled herself around it. The sheets and blankets were in a state of chaos and disarray, and one of her naked, shapely legs fought it's way to the top of the pile. He smiled a bittersweet smile and left, guided only by his faith in her.

* * *

Lusine was furious, of course, but eventually she dropped it and threw her arms around him. In truth, he suspected that she knew this would happen all along.

"You were always my favorite." she said. "Don't tell Jethann that, you know how bitchy he gets."

He grinned and pecked her on the cheek. "Oh, stop it. You're making me blush." They both got a hearty chuckle out of that.

"Don't be a stranger, now! And if you ever change your mind, we'll always have a place for you." She wiped a genuine tear from the corner of her eye.

He pulled away and waved behind him, a bag of some of his belongings slung over his back. He would miss the Blooming Rose, but he had a higher calling now.

Slowly, one foot in front of the next, he made his way down into Darktown.

* * *

A woman named Lirene was the one who set him up with the place - a friend of a friend of a friend - and once she heard what he intended to do with it she refused to take a single coin from him. In fact, she hired a team of men to help him fix it up. When he stepped into the clinic, humble as it may be, he felt like he was finally home.

Within a few days, the place had a line out the door. He did not truly realize the state of Darktown until then. The disease, the destitution, mere children turning to a life of crime to feed their families. There was only so much he could do for them. Weeks went by and he had barely made a dent in the list of fractured limbs and whooping coughs.

And yet, he felt a sense of pride in his work, much more than he ever felt as a whore. Sure, there was accomplishment in ushering someone into bliss, or claiming a woman's maidenhead and turning her into a wild deviant nymphomaniac, but there was something uniquely uplifting about healing a child's broken back or stealing someone from the jaws of death. There was a completeness about it.

He was about to close his doors for the evening after the last broken leg knitted back together. He never locked them, just in case there was an emergency. His patients all knew that he would not turn an injured person away, no matter how tired he was. That said, there was an unspoken rule in the undercity that you did not bother the healer after midnight without good reason.

He turned to the door and saw a long shadow across his floor. He followed it up to the woman casting it. Impossibly blue eyes, careless hair, entirely too much plate and chain and a surly, half-smirk across her lips. One bemused eyebrow ascended behind an unruly lock of hair.

"Anders."

**::shields self with arms:: Please don't hurt me! **


	11. More Than Words

**Huzzah! I thought for sure you guys would kill me after that cliffhanger. Onto the main event. Yes, there will be more after this. There is a definite ending, but I feel you all are owed some Hawke/Anders fluff after the torment I put you all through. Enjoy!**

His throat went completely dry. He dropped the tincture he was holding from his hands, the ceramic shattering across the floor. He took a few tentative steps toward her, and much to his surprise and elation, she did the same.

Then he _ran_.

The few steps it took to cross the room to each other felt like miles, but when the journey was over he threw himself into her, lips first. His fingers traced her jaw-line and threaded into her disheveled mop, tilted her head back so his tongue could skillfully delve past her lips. Her hands fisted up in the front of his clothes.

It was rough, bordering on painful but they'd been through too much to balk at bruised lips and sore tongues.

She stumbled backward, pulling him down with her and he landed on top of her. He was fearful that he'd hurt her for a moment, but she just laughed and he did the same, settling back into her arms and mashing her lips with his own.

The kisses quickly became fevered. Anders pinned her by the wrists to the ground with a roguish smirk. Her eyes twinkled and she rocked her hips lustfully against his already full member. He pressed back reflexively and groaned, breaking away from their kiss to plant his lips on any exposed skin on her throat and shoulders. She threw her head back and laughed, giddy with desire.

Plate clanked against the floor as she unclasped her armor for easier access to her white collarbones, beckoning him to nibble and lave his tongue over them. Her breath hitched as he bit at her hauberk with a growl. She pulled it away to lift it over her head and pool it on the floor behind him. Another tug and she was out of her leather jerkin as well. _Too many layers_ - he thought, annoyed. His eyes must have conveyed such as she swiftly disposed herself of the breast band, revealing her bare breasts, peaked with thick pink nipples.

Instinctively, he reached up to cosset it in his palm, flicking a practiced finger over the sensitive crest until it pebbled at his touch. She cooed - a noise Anders never thought to hear from her lips - and bit her bottom lip. Anders grinned and bent to run the point of his tongue around it's perimeter before sucking it into his mouth, and then out again with a pronounced pop. She hummed in approval as he blew some cool air over it and then repeated the process, then turned his head to do the same to the other until they were both erect and red at the tips.

She really seemed to like the attention in that area, so he did not pull away from them when she began to lose her greaves and the rest of her armor, only the thin cotton scrap of her smalls to cover her. He stroked her on the outside of the already damp fabric. She began to whimper, her fingers seeking purchase in his hair until she accidentally loosed it from it's tie and it fell free onto his cheeks and chin.

Slowly, he scaled down her body in kisses and imprecise licks until he reached her nethers, hooking fingers underneath the waistband to yank them free of her body.

Her aroma curled up into his nostrils at once and he couldn't help but moan. Every woman was unique, of course, but this was different because Hawke was his, or so he hoped. He pushed apart her knees and took in the lovely sight of her, glistening with desire, soaked until almost overflowing. He kissed along her slit, licked her lips and squeezing her thighs, enjoying the sounds it elicited from her mouth.

When she began to squirm and buck at his face, he slipped a tongue through the curtain of flesh and gave a short sweep over her nub, then licked the length of her canyon flatly and buried his face inside her. A sharp squeal came from her as he pulled her by the hips flush against his face and sipped at her bud. Maker, but he loved that sound.

Both hands gripped his hair now, and when he looked up at her, her head was thrown back and she was smiling and red in the cheeks. He drank at her with relish and delight, reveling in her unique taste; salt and metal and something indefinable. Magic, perhaps. He loved the way she tasted, loved that he was the first man to ever taste her, and he especially loved the look on her face as she chanced a peek back down at him, hazy eyes, mouth agape, brow soft and high. She was more beautiful than he'd ever seen her.

He thrashed her clit from side to side and her breath became suddenly erratic and short. She closed her thighs around his ears, anchoring him in place. He chuckled into her and continued until he heard an expletive and the shrill cry of the little death, felt her clench and unclench and her body became completely limp in his arms.

She remained still for a time, her entire body seizing with aftershocks as he ran a mischievous finger along the back of her thighs. When he tried to lick her some more, she pressed her palm against his forehead and yelped, too sensitive to continue.

He sat upright and gave her a self-satisfied smile that read "I believe you owe me." She raised an eyebrow and sat forward to suck her flavor from his still warm lips and tongue. Anders discarded his clothing and grunted as she took him in her hand before he was even free of his smalls.

She glanced up at him and looked worried. He smiled gently and reassured her with a kiss. A path of kisses trailed down his chest and abs, and she stopped to bathe his happy trail with her flat tongue. It tickled a little, but he didn't laugh, didn't want to discourage her creativity.

Her lips encircle the head of his cock and her tongue swirled around it lazily. His eyes rolled back, mostly in encouragement. He pushed the hair off her forehead and watched her cheeks hollow as she sucked her way down half the length of his cock. She stared up at him while she did, gauging his reaction to her actions and looking especially pleased when he dropped his jaw or moaned. He wasn't surprised to learn that she wasn't half bad at it. It did seem rather intuitive his first time as well.

She hummed softly around him and pulled off to dab the tip with her tongue and slide her palms up and down his shaft. He wrapped his hands around hers and showed her the motions he preferred, enjoying how enthusiastic she became to repeat the effect on her own.

When he started to edge, he pulled himself from her lips and pushed her onto her back, climbing back up her body until their lips met and he stole her tongue into his mouth. He rocked his hips, rubbing his cock along her slit and waited for confirmation that she was ready for him. She merely arched into him, grabbed and poised him against her entrance.

He pushed softly against her barrier, and teased at her clit to prepare her for him. She was already wet enough, as well as eager enough, but he wanted this to be a good experience for them both. The veil parted for him and he sank himself deep in her core. She did not cry out, just squeezed his bicep until the burn stopped.

His thrusts were slow and tender, enough to make his heart sore with love for her. She clawed at him as he tickled her nub, staring down at her with affection and devotion. He was right, this was beyond his experience. She was unlike any woman he ever had. His eyes slammed shut from her sweet friction, and he at once mourned the loss of her sight. If he never had to blink again, he would have been happy. He never wanted to leave her body.

He sighed and began to feel himself toeing the edge again. He forced those thoughts from his mind, focusing on her pleasure, instead. He slowed his penetrating to instead twitch her pearl, taking only a few impromptu and much too pleasant dips inside her. Nothing existed but the sighs from her lips, the delicate arch of her eyebrows and the fluttering of her eyelids.

She was close, so desperately close. Every muscle in her body was taut with exertion, she rubbed herself against his fingers and gasped with need. Her nails dug into the flesh of his neck until finally she keened at the top of her lungs and he fell into her, feeling her clamp down around his cock.

"Nicolaus!" she called.

He dove fast now, appetent to meet her in bliss. His true name, like he'd never heard it before from her lips made him tremble and jolt. She had remembered, even after all this time, even after everything.

He was not long, and when he did a spectrum of colors dotted his vision, the earth quaked and he surged like the sea. Everything was Hawke. Everything was pleasure and love and safety. For a brief second he could not tell his flesh from hers and he believed they were truly one. He erupted like a volcano inside her.

"Marian." he sighed, as he hit the earth again.

He crashed forward onto her lips, another hungry, fervent kiss to quell the bursting dam in his heart, but he could not stay the flood. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. He wept like a babe. He could barely make sense among the different emotions. He felt as though he'd been plunged into an icy pool of water, and was drowning inside her.

When he pulled away and rolled off, she laughed at how verklempt he was. He laughed too, despite himself and kissed her gently on the forehead, noting for the first time that the clinic doors were still open and with their volume, the whole of Darktown was likely alerted to their activities. He also noticed that they were on the floor, dusted with filth.

"I love you." she said.

He grinned pulled her against his chest, stroking the raven hair from her face. "I noticed."


	12. Badass

**Sorry for the wait, everyone. I had (I use past tense because I'm an optimist.) a really bad case of writer's block. It was like banging my head against the wall every time I sat down to write. So if the chapter sucks, you know why. **

Anders stared down into his plate, desperate to avoid eye-contact with Hawke's mother, since his lover gave him a look that could chill him to the very bone every time he did. Why he had insisted that they share a "family dinner" was now far beyond him. Perhaps he thought it was what couples did. Normal couples, anyway. At any rate, it was now clear that it was a brilliantly bad idea.

"Can you pass the gravy-boat, dear?" Leandra asked, barely above a whisper. Hawke thrust it at her, so a bit of the brown liquid sloshed over the sides into her wineglass. From where Anders was sitting, it seemed purposeful. Leandra simply cleared her throat and poured some of the gravy onto her meat without a word, a smart move on her part. Hawke seemed to be in a fighting mood, this evening.

Gamlen had the strangest eating habits Anders had ever seen. He rocked back and forth while he cut his food (Anders dubbed this the "Gamlen Meat Dance"), and when he chewed, he hummed a little five note tune. When he swallowed, he made sex noises, rolled his eyes back and nodded approvingly at Leandra. Hawke seemed to be used to it, but Anders found it distracting and uncomfortable to say the least. It added to the atmosphere of an already very awkward evening.

"The food is delicious." he said quietly, and Hawke glared at him like he'd just complimented her mother's ladybits.

After a second or two of intense silence (aside from the humming, which was incessant), Leandra smiled and falteringly said "Thank you, Anders." To which Hawke threw her utensils on the table and stormed away.

Anders dabbed his mouth with his napkin, getting up to follow after her. Nobody had been assaulted yet, always a good sign with his feisty lover, though the night was still young. He hoped he could manage to salvage the evening somehow.

"Hawke, what's the mat...?" he called after her, right before the door slammed right in his face.

When he stepped outside, Hawke was crumpled up on the steps outside of her uncle's hovel, her face buried in her hands. He sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, not entirely surprised when she jerked away.

"Talk to me, love."

"She's my mother!" she shouted.

"Ahh, yes, she is?"

"My mother, Anders! And you were all over each other!"

Much as he understood her paranoia, he found it difficult to imagine that even she could call the unpleasant air in that room attraction. Unless one counted Gamlen's feelings for Leandra's roast, in which case it was anyone's guess.

The weeks that followed their union were arduous but in his opinion, worth it. She was suspicious - perhaps rightfully so - of every woman who glanced in his direction, and adorably possessive. He did wonder how long he'd find it endearing. He was always an indiscriminate flirt, nothing was actually meant by it, it's just who he was. He tried to be considerate of her feelings, but old habits die hard, and Hawke saw threats where there were none. This was one such situation.

"Err...no?" he offered, helpfully.

"You were! I can't! I can't do this!"

He knelt in front of her and raked his fingers through her hair. Usually he would counter this with humor to ease the tension, but he doubted it would help in this situation and might earn her foot up his arse, so he went with sincerity instead. "Look, I know it must be difficult to make peace with my history, but you're just going to have to get over that. Yes, I've been with lots of people, but with very few exceptions, they paid me to do it. I haven't charged you any coin yet, have I?" If he did, he'd be rich, since they'd been going at it like rabbits since that first night. He was beginning to find that Hawke was insatiable, to mutual delight. It was a wonder that they managed to separate from each other long enough to go to dinner in the first place.

She huffed quietly, but relaxed a bit in his embrace. "It's just hard, you know."

Anders refrained from saying "that's what she said," or reminding her that life wasn't all sunshine and sweets with her, either. Instead he settled on "I know, but you're doing a bang-up job, so far."

He eyed the door, dreading going back into the stifling atmosphere of the hovel. He wondered what it would take to end the evening early, before someone ended hacked in half by Hawke's axe, or tragically engulfed in flames.

"I don't want to go back in there." she said, as if reading his mind. Though, Hawke never wanted to be in her uncle's hovel, there were almost no exceptions. They spent most nights at the Hanged Man these days, since sleeping on a rickety cot in the undercity was hardly preferable.

He gave a sigh of relief. "Oh Maker, you don't know how happy I am to hear you say that. Hanged Man?"

"Sounds good to me."

Anders considered going inside to excuse themselves for the evening, but it was hardly worth the headache it would cause. Instead, he joined hands with Hawke and marched away with her toward the tavern.

* * *

The initial shock their companions suffered from seeing the two together still had long worn off. Even Fenris raised an eyebrow upon seeing them "cavorting" together. Isabela and Varric let out a "Finally!" in unison and Merrill gave them a doe-eyed grin. Now it was old news for everyone except Hawke and Anders, who were still trying to gain their bearings with one another. Easier said than done, it seemed.

"Hard for me to keep casting you as a badass with you two making goo-goo eyes at each other, Hawke." Varric said, passing each of them a mug of mead. Hawke completely ignored Varric and continued to stroke Anders' ponytail.

In fact, she wasn't making goo-goo eyes at him. It was all a show of possessiveness. Any woman - Norah, Isabela, even Aveline and Merrill - got a look of pure, terrifying hatred if they came within three feet of him. Which was why all the female companions were sitting on the opposite end of the table, staring intently at their mugs. Well, actually it was because Hawke punched out one of Anders' former clients for saying "hey Anders," when she walked by. The others probably assumed they were next.

In a way, it was good to know that she wanted him. He liked that she cared enough to actually growl at the strange women they passed on the street from day to day. He was already accustomed to the idea of being treated like property, so that didn't bother him. It was just the idea of never being able to speak to another woman again without them being maimed. He'd been on the receiving end of Hawke's wrath more than once, so he knew just how unpleasant that was. If the darkspawn taint hadn't already rendered him sterile, her foot might have.

He had to give her credit, she was aware that her jealousy was an issue. She didn't like it any more than he did, probably even less so. It was something she was actively working on, and failing to overcome. That's what made it so difficult to call her on it.

Anders lifted his mug to his lips and drained it, watching Hawke snarl at a woman whose eyes had briefly skated over him from across the room. If looks could kill, the whole room would be covered in offal and gore.

"Yeah, that's right. Time to go, princess." Hawke muttered under her breath, as the woman left in a hurry.

It was already starting to become toilsome, not to mention completely unfounded. He wanted no other woman. Every time she looked at him, his heart skipped and fluttered. He felt like a giddy teenager, being around her. But this, this was just obnoxious.

"I think I'll get to bed." he said, rising from his chair.

Hawke looked relieved. "Me too." And for a split second he wondered if she was going to bed because she was tired or because she was trying to keep an eye on him. That was the moment he realized it was a real problem.

She followed him up the stairs silently. When the door clicked behind him, he plopped onto the bed, frowning.

"Something wrong?"

He palmed his forehead. "No...yes...Maker, I don't know." he sighed.

Hawke gave him a look of complete dejection and slumped into the spot behind him. She seemed to know before he even said anything what the problem was.

"I'm sorry."

"I know. That's what makes it difficult. I know you're trying. I know you don't mean it. I know it must be beyond difficult for you. What am I supposed to do?"

She leaned against him, reclining her head on his shoulder. At least here he knew that it was genuine affection and not just a territorial reaction to being within a mile of a woman. He wished he could always carry that certainty.

"I'm afraid." she said in a small voice.

It was the last thing he'd ever think to hear from her. This was Hawke, after all. She was brave and strong, made of the stuff of heroes. A "badass" as Varric called her. Anders knew from the moment he saw her that she was important, different. Yet, beneath it all, she was still just a person. She was vulnerable, even if she didn't show it to anyone else. Perhaps that made her even more vulnerable.

He put his arm around her, drawing her close to him. "What are you afraid of?"

She hesitated and buried her face in his chest, muffling the next part. "Afraid you'll leave me for someone else."

"That's stupid. Don't think that. I love you. Why would I leave you for someone else?"

"You're handsome and worldly and charismatic. You could have any woman you wanted! Meanwhile, I've been nothing but nasty since the day I met you. Why wouldn't you leave me for someone else? I don't even understand why you want me to begin with."

He laughed at her, first just a chuckle, then full-blown guffaws until he was red in the face.

"What are you laughing at?"

"You!" he said, followed by even more breathless laughter.

"I just poured my heart out to you and you're laughing?! What's wrong with you?"

"You're certifiably insane..."

"If you think I'm just going to sit here and let you insult me..."

"...you must be." he wiped away some moisture from the corner of his eyes with his thumb, finally catching his breath. "First of all, there's a big difference between buying a whore and loving one. Lucky for me, you never got the memo. Secondly, are you insulting my taste in women? How dare you! Third off, who do you think I'd leave you for? Most of my clientele were self-hating templars and bored, _married_ noblewomen. I'm an apostate, a Grey Warden deserter and a reformed prostitute. I couldn't give my heart away if it came in a tub of raw lyrium and gold, carried on the backs of twenty teenage elven virgins. One might be more inclined to question _your_ judgment than mine."

A reluctant smile spread across her lips and she jabbed him lightly in the ribs. "You're an ass."

"There's that, too." He grazed her lips with a soft kiss and chuckled, lacing his fingers with hers in his lap. "Face it, love: you're stuck with me."

It wasn't anything but the truth, but the look in her eyes told him that it was everything she needed to hear and more, and the gentle squeeze she gave his hand was the confirmation he needed. Perhaps things wouldn't change overnight. It wouldn't be easy, maybe it never would, but Anders didn't want easy. Anders wanted her.

She huffed in mock indignation. "Says you. If I get tired of your antics, I'll just break you over my knee."


End file.
